


All is Black

by Weirwoo



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Character Death, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Jaime Lannister Lives, Jaime Lannister presumed dead, Moving On, Post-Season/Series 08 Finale, Redemption, Tarth (ASoIaF), The Quiet Isle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:27:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 65,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23206987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Weirwoo/pseuds/Weirwoo
Summary: Brienne of Tarth struggles to live after Jaime leaves her to die with his sister. Now she faces a decision: should she stay and become Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, or return to Tarth? The only person who seems to understand her grief is the soon-to-be exiled Jon Snow.Years later, she finds out that Jaime isn't really dead....
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth, Jon Snow/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 263
Kudos: 274





	1. Chapter One: King's Landing

**Author's Note:**

> This fic takes place post GOT show but incorporates some elements of book canon. 
> 
> Jaime is presumed dead, but he really is not (he appears later in the story). This fic has Brienne living her life and trying to move on, and if you don't like the idea of her being in a relationship after Jaime's presumed death, don't read this. If you don't like Jon/Brienne as secondary pairing, move on. JaimexBrienne endgame.

[](https://imgur.com/p3RO9gO)

It was absurd. The sentence had been given: Jon Snow was to go north of the Wall and never return. Yet it was immediately clear to all but Grey Worm that it was a decision made to appease the Unsullied troops and whatever remained of the Dothraki riders. And soon enough the foreign troops from the East left on ships across the Narrow Sea, not a single one of them wanting to stay, having enough of the cold formality of the Westerosi. After all, no one could blame them for not wanting to remain in the land that had killed their dragon queen. Many of them cursed these poisoned lands, and vowed never to cross the poison seas ever again.

So it came to be that when they left, little interest was shown amongst the council of noble houses – after they had rather informally chosen Bran Stark as the King of the Six Kingdoms – to settle the details of Jon Snow’s promised exile. He had killed the conqueror, Queen Daenerys Targaryen, making him both a Queenslayer and Kinslayer; on the other hand, she was responsible for burning the entire city and killing thousands upon thousands of men, women, and children. Everyone knew that what sealed her fate was her plan to do the exact same thing to cities all around Westeros and around the world. The noble houses vacillated, undecided on a just punishment. They argued: there was never an official coronation, so had Daenerys even _been_ Queen in those few days after the destruction of the city? It also helped that the new King and new Queen of the North were Starks and siblings of the accused. So it was decided that Jon’s exile would be from King’s Landing, as long as he renounced any claim to the identity of Aegon Targaryen, renounced any present or future claim to the thrones, both North and South, and abandoned any military or leadership role. Theoretically, he could go anywhere. He was a free man.

All of these terms were reasonable to Jon, insofar as his fate went. He had turned into an empty, dull shell of himself immediately after he stabbed his lover in the heart. He had fully expected to be incinerated by the angry Drogon, but the black dragon had inexplicably melted the iron throne instead of him, before carrying his dead mother in his claws and flying off to gods know where. Jon hadn’t even left the throne room or tried to escape, but just sat there in a pool of Dany’s blood, his face pale and blank. When Grey Worm and the guards found him, Jon had obediently allowed himself to be chained and confined to a cell, where he waited his trial. All on the council, including Sansa, Bran, and Arya, could see that Jon had fully expected to die; not only that, but he _wanted_ to die. So Jon was more surprised than anyone when they gave him the sentence of exile, and bade him to return to the Night’s Watch which in truth no longer existed. A farce of a sentence, meaningful in its meaninglessness.

King Bran had asked Brienne to be Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. Sansa had freed her from her service; Ayra had no need of her as she was even more lethal than Brienne with her assassin skills. In fact, the young woman had planned to travel West to explore the unknown world. Or so she said.

“You do not belong North,” Sansa had said to her, as she firmly but kindly dismissed Brienne’s offer to go back to Winterfell and protect the new Queen of the North. Brienne suspected that the dignified young Queen was tired of Brienne’s anxious vigilance, her judgmental hovering, wanting to have an identity separate from the frightened, shivering girl Brienne had found in the snowy North. Sansa was forging a new identity for herself as the Northern Queen; she needed no reminders of her weaknesses or her wounds.

Brienne had not given the future much thought, after the Long Night and after Jaime had left her in Winterfell. She grieved in private after he had left her crying and wailing in the courtyard. She was undignified, undone, unmade. She unraveled and fell apart. That night, she remembered hastily throwing on her black robe after suddenly waking up in the middle of the night and discovering the other side of the bed cold and empty. Of course, after sleeping in her rooms for a moon, and not so discreetly spending every night with Jaime in her bed since the Long Night, it was no secret that she was no longer officially the Maid of Tarth. When he left her in the middle of the night to return to Cersei with an explanation filled with self-loathing, guilt and helplessness, Brienne cried and cried, but in her heart she had to admit she was not surprised. Jaime never felt like he belonged to her; they never exchanged words of love (although she loved him, that she could not deny that to herself), and it felt, Brienne realized in retrospect, that he was on loan to her, temporarily, and whatever they had in their safe little cocoon in Winterfell would not last. Could never last. Perhaps it was why, the morning after they made love the first time, when Lady Sansa pressed a package of moon tea into her hands, she accepted it silently; she later asked Gilly about how to brew it properly, and drank it every day, without fail. They had just fought the dead and were facing another war. It was no time to make babies, and no future was secure enough to bring new life into the world.

Now Jaime was dead, buried with his true love, his sister, under the Red Keep, after the dragon Queen set fire to the whole city. She had learned of the news by raven sent to Sansa. Pod had to grip her arm to keep her from falling.

When they all came to King’s Landing for the leader’s council, Tyrion had come to her late in the evening, bearing a jug of wine and two goblets. Seeing him standing at the threshold of her door made her heart ache; she remembered Jaime then, bearing wine that first night they made love. Jaime and Tyrion did not look alike, but there was an echo of his brother’s amused and sardonic expression in his face, and Brienne nearly crumbled. They had found Cersei’s body, he said, completely crushed and only recognizable because of her fine crimson and gold gown.

“The ceiling and walls were caved in,” Tyrion said, studying Brienne with his mismatched eyes, “It was impossible to dig. But his golden hand was found near Cersei. And the boat I left him to escape was still there. Untouched.”

He looked at the giantess in front of him, sitting so still that she seemed like a statue. All still except her eyes, which were slightly lowered but were shining and wet. She tightly clasped her hands in her lap, as if in a desperate prayer. As if she were trying to keep her world from falling apart just from the white grip of her own hands. She refused wine; he drank his greedily. It was one of his few solaces after the burning and sacking of the city. A nightmare.

“You gave him means of escape,” Brienne said, almost whispering.

Tyrion winced as a wave of guilt washed over him. “The army had caught him – or perhaps he let himself be caught, for he did not hide his golden hand; they bound him, put him in chains. I unbelievably had to convince him to try to save Cersei.”

She raised her eyes to him in interest.

“He seemed defeated when visited him, tied up in the tent. Hopeless. But I pushed him to escape, I pushed him in the direction of Cersei, to save her. It’s absurd.” Tyrion lowered his head into his hands. “I think he would be alive now if I hadn’t tried so hard to convince him. But then maybe the dragon would have eaten him had he remained a prisoner.”

Brienne looked at him, her clear blue eyes wide with compassion. “No. He wanted to go to her, he wanted to save her. He told me.”

Tyrion had always been puzzled by her, this lady knight, who seemed too honest and too brave and too full of honour for this world. She was tall, ungainly, undoubtedly ugly, save for those beguiling blue eyes. His brother had loved her; he saw it clear and plain in Winterfell, how Jaime had never seemed so happy. At Winterfell, after the Long Night was over, there had been a lightness to his brother that Tyrion had never seen perhaps ever. It was, of course, because of _her_ : Brienne, his sole source of light. Before his twin dragged him back into the darkness. He felt sorry and guilty that he had convinced himself that Cersei was going to change. He could laugh at his own ridiculousness now, how he was always chasing after his sister’s love, even though she was irredeemably evil.

She looked at him fully now, bringing the full light of her eyes on him, leaving him a little stunned. He suddenly understood why Jaime had turned from Cersei toward this entirely unique and astonishing woman in front of him.

“I’m sorry Tyrion, for what you have lost. Your brother, and your sister. And your queen.” Brienne said soberly. She had observed the emotions on his face: the self-mocking, the irritation, the kindness, anger and despair. All at once, the force of what must have been his grief hit her. He had lost his whole family and his queen; in contrast, she had lost a man she loved who, in truth, she only had in her bed for a barely a moon.

He seemed surprised at her words; his lips pursed then turned down at the corners. His eyes drooped with sorrow. “I don’t know why I wanted to save Cersei, but I did. I tried to negotiate with her, give her another chance time and again. In the end, I still wanted her love, I suppose. The evil, cruel, insane woman that she was in the end.” He cleared his throat, and looked down at this hands. “Jaime was better than either of us. He would never admit it – I don’t think he even believed it – but he was good. His heart-” Tyrion broke off, his voice cracking.

“I know,” Brienne said, smiling at the small man softly. “I know what kind of man Jaime was. I’ve always seen it. That’s why I…” She trailed off, gesturing inarticulately, unwilling and unable to finish her sentence.

He looked at her for a long time, both assessing and appreciating, it seemed.

“Jaime loved you, you know,” he said, looking up into her astonished eyes. “He was happy with you.”

Brienne blushed like a maiden despite it all. “For a moon, perhaps,” she said lightly, her face remaining still despite the warning flags of pink on her cheeks. In her mind she reminded herself: _alas, he never said anything about love_.

She suddenly stood up, feeling all too warm in her rooms. Of course, she had put too much wood into the fire. An old Northern habit, she thought to herself. She excused herself clumsily, murmuring something about Lady Sansa and her duties, and left him in her rooms, alone with a jug of wine.

King Bran had asked for her service soon after the sparse and exceedingly simple coronation, but she had yet to accept his offer to be the Lord Commander of his new Kingsguard. Years ago, she would have leapt at the chance to serve the realm, to guard a good and just king; after all, she had gone into service for Renly with nary a thought. _But you thought yourself in love with him_ , a voice reminded her. She shook her head. Was that all if it, that she had followed a man, all for a chance at love and proximity to her love object? First Renly. Then Jaime.

Her father had sent a raven. Tarth survived, having been largely overlooked by the dragon queen on her way to King’s Landing, but it was invaded later by the Golden Company before they made for the city to fight for Cersei. They needed to rebuild; portions of Evenfall Hall had been damaged, and small villages burned. Her father asked her to return. He said he missed her. He said he was growing old. She had not seen him in many years, since she left to join Renly’s army.

Then she remembered. She and Jaime had circled each other, pulling apart, then unexpectedly meeting every couple of years. But she never followed him _. In the end, it was Jaime who had followed her_ , a voice reminded her. _Aye, and left her_ , she reminded herself soon after.

=====

She allowed herself to think of him before she closed her eyes to sleep. The day was done, and the days were always exhausting, filled with decisions and meetings and discussions, where everyone was trying to ignore the losses each of them had experienced in the war with the Others and in the destruction of King’s Landing. None of them could succumb to the oppressive feelings of hopelessness and despair that threatened them; instead, they forced themselves to think about the future, about rebuilding, about new lives and new goals.

For Brienne, there was precious little to look forward to, and she was just plain tired. Her body was tired, as was her mind. Her heart was squeezed dry. So she allowed herself a few moments before sleep to think about Jaime, the only man she had truly loved. Sometimes she thought about all the times they saved each other, how defending her honour had resulted in Jaime losing his sword hand. She remembered how he unthinkingly jumped into the bear pit to save her, pushing her behind him, and not having any plan beyond that. She thought of his face that hid and revealed at the same time when he gave her Oathkeeper and her blue armor which she still wore to this day. She thought of fighting against the wights in the Long Night, both of them slashing their Valyrian swords side by side, killing dead body after dead body until that miraculous end when all of their enemies suddenly dropped to the ground, dead for the very final time.

Sometimes she even allowed herself to think of the month at Winterfell, when she finally acknowledged her love for him to herself, and he expressed some measure of love for her. How they kissed, tentatively but with barely restrained hunger, how wonderful his bare chest covered with sparse hair felt against her own skin, how his kisses made her swoon, how he brought out desire and wanting and fire within her very soul, the sort that she had never thought she would experience in her lifetime. On some of these nights, she reached into her small clothes to find herself wet, and she stroked and rubbed herself to completion while she remembered how he felt inside her, how his grunts and moans made her melt, how they shuddered together, their bodies impossibly close. But always wanting him closer.

She would sleep and dream of him. Some dreams were sweet, leaving her gasping with pleasure; some dreams were curious, with her having a swollen belly with Jaime beaming by her side. Yet some dreams were nightmares, as he saw him in his sister’s arms, kissing and fucking, naked and writhing in each other’s arms. Sometimes she dreamed of him dying over and over, the ceiling falling on the golden twins, crushing their bodies to a bloody red pulp. In some dreams she wielded a sword and struck his head off with Oathkeeper, or she plunged a dagger in his heart like Jon did with the dragon queen.

The length of her sleep varied, and was likely not enough. But she made sure to put those dreams away when the morning came, as the day was for reality. The day was for survival. It was for the living.

=====

Sansa and Arya, the two Stark sisters whom she had vowed to protect and serve, were talking in the small godswood at the Red Keep that overlooked Blackwater Bay. The trees there were not the white-barked weirwood of the north, but a collection of elm and cottonwood, anchored by an immense old oak tree which served as the heart tree. Rivals in childhood and incompatible in temperament, the two sisters had both suffered violence, had seen their parents and siblings killed, had experienced betrayals in their respective journeys. These trials had aged them beyond their years and had installed within them a sharpness and suspicion that gave them an iron veneer. Yet their losses finally had made them close as sisters, like their parents had always wished them to be. The sisters beckoned Brienne when they spotted her in the periphery of the godswood.

To Sansa, Brienne looked haunted and slightly ill, ever since they had gotten the raven about Jaime Lannister. It was to be expected, Sansa sighed, a part of her heart still romantic even after all of her own terrors in the marriage bed. She had not liked Jaime, but he had fought for them, and was clearly besotted with this woman warrior standing uncomfortably in front of her. And yet he left her to her grief, for his sister-lover, and Sansa’s heart again closed.

“We’re worried about Jon,” Arya said in her blunt, serious way, her eyes dark. The sisters gave each other a meaningful look.

“I have not seen him much,” Brienne said, noting that since his trial, he had mostly been in his rooms, or walking alone at night. He was a free man. But still.

“He’s brooding,” Sansa said, frowning.

Arya interjected impatiently. “He won’t snap out of it – it’s been weeks since…”

“He killed his queen,” finished Brienne, letting the full weight of that fact sink into all three of them.

“Grey Worm and the Unsullied are long gone, there’s no Night’s Watch for him join. The Wall, or what’s left of it, is no longer relevant. He’s a free man, as far as the council is concerned.” Arya cocked her eyebrow. She had earlier asked Jon if he wanted to come with her on her adventures, but her brother – no, _cousin_ – had shook his head and smiled sadly. The two of them were always the closest out of all them in the family, but she knew she had changed, become more remote, and so had he.

Sansa touched the heart tree, and pressed her hand to its rough brown bark. She looked at Brienne now. “Will you try to speak to him, Brienne? See what he wants to do?”

“Try to convince him to come back to Winterfell,” Arya said, giving Sansa a look.

“He shouldn’t come back North yet,” Sansa said, worrying her lips with her teeth.

Her sister glared at her. “Stop it with your nonsense.”

Sansa shook her head vehemently. “Not yet. The Northerners are bound to rally around him, Arya.”

“Thereby undermining the rule of the new Queen of the North.” Her sister gave her a look of shrewd distaste.

The red-haired future queen of the North turned to Brienne. “Will you talk to him? It seems that he might listen to you. You have experienced…similar losses.”

Brienne felt her throat constrict, but nodded. She doubted that she would get through to him in his grief; after all, they had not spent enough time together in Winterfell to even call themselves friends. She had been preoccupied with Jaime, and he with his dragon queen, war, and saving the known world.

=====

“You’re no longer a prisoner, you know.”

Jon looked up at her, his dark eyebrows lifted in surprise. He stood up in courtesy. “Ser Brienne.”

The weeks in the cells after the death of Daenerys did him no favours; he was pale and had lost a considerable amount of weight. His face was thin and drawn, his hair hung about his shoulders in lanky black curls. He moved with the slowness and exhaustion of a man three times his age.

“Am I not still a prisoner? Sometimes I wonder,” Jon said, with a hint of a smile. He gestured for her to sit opposite him in a chair.

Jon was surprised at the sudden appearance of Brienne of Tarth. He did not know this woman knight all that well; yet at the same time, they had fought together against the dead and had almost died over and over. He supposed in that case, he knew her quite well. Looking into the face of death repeatedly had obviously done away with any formality between them. Yet there was always an odd shyness and politeness about her that he wasn’t able to see behind. He offered her a cup of watered wine, which she somberly accepted.

“My sisters sent you,” he said, then stopped. “Pardon. My cousins.” He wasn’t sure who knew and who didn’t about his true parentage; Brienne knew, as did the council, and well, knowing how quickly word spread, many more people would already know by now. It was reason enough for him to leave King’s Landing soon.

“They are worried about you, my lord,” Brienne said, looking at him with a furrowed brow.

“I’ve never been a lord, Brienne. Just Jon.” He rubbed his eyes as if trying to erase the fatigue from them. “I know,” he continued, “I will need to go soon, and never come back to King’s Landing.”

Brienne leaned toward him, her eyes wide. “Where will you go?”

“I had thought North, but I realize it will not do Sansa any good to have a former King of the North there, disgraced and a Queenslayer though he may be. Perhaps North of the Wall, since I had once found peace there. But there are too many memories up there. I have seen too many dead things come to life. But Ghost is there.” Jon stood up, and idly looked out his window to the shimmering waters of the bay. He turned to Brienne.

“And you? Will you be the new Lord Commander of Bran’s Kingsguard?”

She hesitated before answering, her voice low and deliberate. “I know not as yet. Had this opportunity come up years ago, I would have immediately accepted. But it pains me to stay here. I have not liked court much.”

“You know about memories, then, and the harm they do.” Jon’s mouth twisted.

“I do.” She felt unsteady, her chest tight. She drained her cup quickly and stood to go. Jon followed her movements with curious eyes. She turned back before she left the room.

“Jon. Will you come to the training yard at sunrise tomorrow?”

His eyebrows shot up, but the rest of his face remained placid. He nodded, and she turned and left.

=====

After that, it had become a habit, both of them sparring in the yard well before people rose for the day. Jon hadn’t done much fighting, or anything physical in months, and he was left exhausted after the first few bouts with the abnormally strong Brienne. It was strange how they never practiced like this in Winterfell; but he had seen her fight the dead beside Jaime Lannister, and he knew she was a fierce fighter. Yet he did not know her immense innate talent and instinct for the blade until he sparred with her. She was patient, waiting for him to attack first, and when she did attack it was with a force that was sure to overwhelm him; the first few times they fought she literally beat him into the dirt. She did not treat him gently, did not treat him like a wounded bird like the rest of his family. She pushed him, challenged him, and made him rage. He felt his blood surge and grow hot. When their swords met, the war, the killing, the loss, the destruction went out of his mind, and all he could think about were her blows, her feet, his sword, and how the metal rang into the morning sky.

They were at a stone terrace that was secluded from prying eyes, overlooking the sea. Jon sat against a wall, quietly panting, while Brienne sat beside him, her long legs stretched in front of her.

“Your endurance is improving,” Brienne remarked plainly, passing him a waterskin.

“I have not had such vigorous activity since….”

“Yes. Since.” She looked out into the sea, which shone in the morning light. Jon followed her gaze.

“Yet the world is still beautiful,” Jon murmured.

Brienne nodded. She turned her gaze to him now, her eyes bright and intensely blue. She was pleased to see him eating more, and losing that terrifying gauntness. He was good too, with the blade, one of the best she’d encountered, though he was still weak and unable to beat her. She smiled.

She stared at the ocean. Every time they sparred within sight of the Bay she had been reminded of Tarth, her island that she hadn’t seen in many years. The news that The Golden Company had invaded the island had filled her with a helpless terror that gripped her in Winterfell, and nearly destroyed her on top of the grief she felt at Jaime leaving and dying.

“I think I will go home. To Tarth. We need to rebuild after the destruction of The Golden Company.”

“Tell me about it. Tarth.” Jon’s expression was gentle. He moved closer to her.

“I have often thought of it, every time I’ve looked at the sea here. Just beyond Blackwater Bay is the Narrow Sea, and that’s the ocean on which Tarth sits.” Her expression softened. “Tarth’s waters are very blue, like the colour of sapphires, or so they say. The island is very green and lush. In my mind, it has everything: mountains, lakes, waterfalls, meadows, and deep valleys.”

“It sounds beautiful.”

“It is. It is easy, I think, to find peace there. I had thought it staid and dull when I was growing up, but being somewhere quiet appeals to me now.”

Jon looked at her, a small smile on his lips. “It sounds lovely.”

Brienne bit her lip and looked down for a moment. She looked over at him again, and hesitantly spoke. “You could come to Tarth, if you want. People won’t know you there, and won’t care that you were once the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch or the King of the North. The island would benefit from your skills.”

Jon stared at her in surprise. Since Brienne had first visited his rooms three weeks ago, she had sparred with him every day, and they had talked in their quiet way. Her seriousness appealed to him, as he was of a similar frame of mind; they did not talk about Jaime or Daenerys, but the undercurrent of grief was there, and he knew that they both felt it. It was what kept both of them from laughing or crying. Nevertheless, she surprised him that first day and continued to surprise him, with her skills with the sword, with her physical strength, but also with her kindness and consideration of others. Of _him_. She was likely the only person he’s ever met that he thought was genuinely _kind_. It was with astonishment that he figured out, one day, that he liked her as a person, and not only that, he liked being around her. Strangely enough, being around Brienne reminded him of being around Ghost: that accepting, supportive and unerringly good presence. He thought of his direwolf, now lost to him, but likely happy in the wilds up North, finding his own pack like his sister Nymeria did in the Riverlands.

He stared at Brienne, and saw that she was serious, though there were blotches of red on her face from embarrassment. It occurred to him that she was being brave in asking him to come to her island, and that it was not an offer that she had given lightly. It seemed that she was offering him something precious.

“All right,” Jon said, nodding. “To Tarth.”

Brienne grinned, and Jon saw with astonishment how her face transformed into utter joy. He couldn’t help but grin in return, and she laughed a little at his smile, and he found himself chuckling as well, for no reason at all.

=====

Brienne had expected the news that Jon Snow was returning to Tarth with her would be met with shock and incredulity; especially, she thought, in light of how odd she was sure they looked standing side by side. Jon was a full head shorter than her, though he was tall enough for the average man. She was just unnaturally tall, and pale where he was dark, ugly where he was beautiful. Slim and compact where she was muscular and large. She wondered why she always ended up traveling with insanely attractive men; it certainly did her no favours.

Yet superseding the shock was a palpable sense of relief amid the leadership council that remained in the city. The presence of Jon was a problem; they needed to have the appearance of exiling him, if not to the North, then somewhere else. None of the kingdoms had wanted to claim him. Tarth was as good a place as any, and was remote enough not to attract important visitors.

The night before their departure she was summoned to the Hand’s Tower, much to her annoyance. Both she and Pod had spent the day packing and loading up their horses of their supplies. The young man could have stayed in King’s Landing and been part of the Kingsguard; King Bran had knighted him at Brienne’s request. As a knight, she could have knighted him herself, but a kingly knighting seemed more appropriate, since Brienne had only been a knight for a few moons. However, Pod had chosen again to be by her side; she did not know why he wanted to come to Tarth with her, perhaps out of his own sense of duty, but nonetheless she was glad. King Bran had also offered to knight Jon Snow at the same time, but Jon politely declined with a shake of the head, saying he was no knight.

Tyrion looked up at the blonde giantess who had appeared in his door and beckoned her in. As always, he offered her a cup of wine which she reluctantly accepted, and she perched in a chair near him. She was still awkward and uncomfortable and it occurred to him that the only times he’d seen her relax was when she was with Jaime (he remembered particularly the lightness and laughter at the feast celebrating the end of the Long Night), or when she had a sword in hand. Still, she looked much better since she arrived in King’s Landing weeks ago. Despite the lingering sadness in her eyes and weariness of expression, she was healthy and her eyes were more sharply focused. He regarded her with a steady gaze and a small quirk of the lips.

“You leave tomorrow,” Tyrion drawled, “With Jon Snow….”

“And Pod,” she added, a little peevishly.

“Of course, our devoted squire.”

“He’s a _ser_ now,” Brienne reminded him.

“How could I forget.” Tyrion chuckled. He must admit that seeing this mulish side of her return instead of the usual sad-eyed lady was immensely entertaining. It must have been what thrilled his brother, her ability to scowl and needle back at his japes. Jaime dearly loved to prod and tease.

“How did you convince Jon to go with you?” Tyrion was genuinely curious. Since the death of Daenerys, Jon had turned inward, silent and cold even to his sibling-cousins. No one, except for this strange lady before him, was able to get to him. The only times he had seen Jon outside was when he was with Brienne, sparring, or walking or merely sitting and staring out at sea.

“I didn’t convince him.” The woman gave him a slight frown. “He just agreed to come.” She paused in her usual thoughtful way. “I told him about Tarth, I said it was peaceful there. I supposed he wanted peace.”

“Don’t we all. Though I’m saddened to know that you won’t be part of the court as Lord Commander.”

“I don’t belong at court.” Brienne took a sip of wine. “King’s Landing has always confused me. I don’t have a mind for its schemes and intrigues. And I cannot stay in the place where he… _he_ died.”

“You mourn him still.”

“I will mourn him always. Even if he did not love me…. I loved him, and that will have to be enough for me.” She looked at him with a frankness and honesty that almost made him wince. He wondered if he met anyone as pure as her. No wonder she had the power to wrench Jaime from Cersei’s claws.

He walked to the sideboard and leaned against it, looking at her with a serious expression. “And there is no child?”

Brienne blushed, but to her credit she looked him straight in the eye and shook her head. “No. I took moon tea.”

He thought that was a pity; he would have loved to have something alive of his brother behind. He sighed.

Tyrion turned to her and presented her with the sword, carefully wrapped in suede. With widened eyes, she took it out and laid it across her knees, staring at the striations of red and black along the blade, running her fingers along its intricate pommel, rubbing the large ruby at its hilt.

“Widow’s Wail. Jaime’s sword,” she said in awe, looking down. Tyrion saw what looked like tears drop onto the pommel. Brienne shook her head and gathered herself, and when she looked up at him, her face was a controlled mask, splotches of red on her face the only thing that betrayed her emotion.

Tyrion smiled wryly. “That’s always been an absurd name. I wonder why Jaime never renamed it.”

Brienne wrapped up the sword and offered it back to him.

Tyrion shook his head. “He’d want you to have it.” She opened her mouth in shocked protest.

“It was rather that, or the hand. And I much prefer the hand, myself.”

“Tyrion. It’s too precious. It should stay in your family.”

“I’m sure you’ve noticed, but all my family seemed to have died off, and I really don’t want to give a Valyrian steel sword to a distant and incompetent Lannister cousin.” He smiled at her. “Anyway, the blades were made from one sword, were they not? They belong together. I think he would have insisted upon that.” He gave her a sharp look and shrugged. “I did offer it to Sansa, but she politely declined.”

“I – I don’t know what to say…but thank you.” Brienne stared at the wrapped sword in her lap. She looked up at him with her face open, filled with gratitude. Tyrion was suddenly glad she was going away; he thought he could not bear to be so much in her presence, with those eyes that could not tell a lie. Being around her somehow reminded him too much of his brother, and the new life he could have had if he’d left Cersei for good. That, and the part he played in his brother’s death.


	2. Chapter Two: The Kingsroad and the Sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne, Jon, and Pod are on their way to Tarth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear readers, thank you for your encouraging comments and for the kudos. I must thank you for giving this story a chance.

They took Kingsroad through the Kingswood, stopping nightly to camp in the forest and to hunt. This was the forest where King Robert frequently went on his hunting excursions, and it was where he was gutted by the infamous boar that eventually killed him after much suffering and agony on his deathbed. It was strange to think upon those times, when the biggest worry had been the King’s overindulgence and growing indolence. But the forest was pleasant enough to travel through; it was spring and there was plenty of game about, with Pod catching rabbits and Brienne fishing while Jon tended to the fire. He was surprisingly quite skilled at keeping the fires going. She guessed he had been a kind of _useful_ type of king, not like the kind of king Robert Baratheon had been.

“When I was steward for the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, I learned how to make fires quickly and efficiently. It gets cold up there.” He looked off into the distance. “Fire is life there.”

Pod stared curiously at Jon, then resumed skinning his rabbit. The young man’s mouth quirked up. “When I first was squire to Ser Brienne, she had to teach me everything. I don’t think I ever made a real fire in the woods before.”

“Weren’t you Tyrion’s squire before that?”

Brienne rolled her eyes. “Don’t ask what he did for Tyrion. I think all he did was pour wine.”

Pod laughed. “True, but I know all the good vintages. I also arranged much of the food. Lord Tyrion loved to eat. And drink.”

Brienne grinned. “I remember when Pod first prepared rabbit on the spit, he didn’t even know that you needed to skin the rabbit before roasting it!”

“The whole animal went up in flames. Poof!” Pod grinned. “My lady ser did not appreciate that very much.”

“I bet she didn’t.” Jon smiled at them. “You should have seen me when I first arrived at the Wall, Pod. I was arrogant and green and thought I knew everything. A real pampered lordling. It turned out there was much I didn’t know, as many used to remind me.”

He turned to Brienne. “You always strike me as always being competent, Brienne. Were you always good at all this?”

“Everything but needlework,” Brienne wryly commented, waving her large hands as an explanation. “I didn’t have many friends, so I ran around much of the island on my own. Picked up a few things here and there.”

“I shall look forward to you showing me all your secret places in Tarth, Brienne.” Jon said wistfully.

She glanced at him nervously. “I hope you won’t be disappointed by it, Jon. It’s pretty but awfully quiet. There is not much around there save some fishing villages and farms, other than Evenfall Hall.”

Jon shook his head. “That sounds idyllic to be sure. It’s much better than freezing your ass off in the North beyond the Wall.”

=====

Brienne had her back to the fire, sitting for her part of the night watch. Much occupied her mind. So many had been killed in the endless wars: War of the Five Kings, War of the Others, War of the Two Queens, not to mention the destruction by the Brotherhood without Banners and the Bloody Mummers that ravaged the Riverlands and beyond. By the end, everyone was tired of fighting. One good thing about it all, if you could call it that, was that food was more abundant as there were fewer mouths to feed. Of late, she had not heard of violent gangs roaming the Kingswood, but she would never take the risk at night. She had learned her lessons too well from her time searching for Sansa. It seemed so long ago now. 

She sensed a movement behind her and felt Jon settle beside her. He looked out into the darkness, his black hair falling elegantly on his forehead.

“You should be asleep.” She turned and looked at him. His skin appeared blue in the moonlight.

“I can’t.” He stretched out his legs in front of him. “I don’t sleep very much. And if I do, I don’t dream.”

“You never dream?” She looked at him in astonishment.

“Not since….” He paused. “Well, not since they brought me back.”

“The red woman.” Brienne could not prevent the scorn in her voice. 

“Aye. She brought me back from the dead with her fire magic, though I don’t think she knew what she was doing. She was as surprised as anybody when I actually came back to life.”

She looked at him intensely, her eyes curious.

“You really _were_ dead.”

Jon nodded, chuckling softly. “For nearly a day, they say. My body was blue and cold.” Her silence encouraged him to continue. “When I took my first breaths...afterwards, I only felt terror, a blackness, a wrenching in my chest. It was the scariest thing I’ve ever experienced...I was confused, panicked. I was alone, naked. I saw stab wounds on my chest, in my heart. I knew I shouldn’t have been alive. It was terrible. Horrific.”

Brienne’s eyes were huge as she listened and took in his words. 

“It was a while until I felt like myself. Seeing familiar faces around me helped. Being around Ghost helped a lot. With time, I felt more like me.” He gave her a melancholy glance. “But I think a part of me never came back. I could never put my finger on what exactly I lost when I returned, but...I don’t think I ever felt whole after that.”

“That’s why…. You really don’t dream?”

“No longer. Sleep is a blackness I fall into. I used to have what they call wolf dreams, as if I saw the world from the eyes of Ghost. Those dreams made me feel so alive, so connected to him. I felt the exhilaration of his hunt, the taste of blood in his mouth. But I haven’t had a single dream since I came back.”

“Perhaps that is a blessing,” Brienne said, looking down. “My dreams are often not very pleasant, especially these days. I dream about fire, the wars, people I love dying in my arms. Me not being able to protect them.”

“Do you dream of Jaime?” Jon’s voice was soft and close to her skin.

“Him most of all.” Her eyes were shiny pools in the darkness. “In dreams he is killed in front of my eyes, and I can do nothing to save him.”

“It wasn’t your fault he died. He chose to go back.”

Brienne threw him a sharp, anguished glance. “Yes. Don’t you see? I wasn’t enough for him to stay. He didn’t love me enough. And I let him go.”

“Brienne. There was nothing you could have done.” Jon put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. She took in a shaky breath. 

“I know. But I think sometimes. What if I had followed him? Or knocked him out and put him in the cells until it was all over? At least he would still be alive. He would hate me, but he’d still be alive.”

They were silent then. They heard the faint howl of a wolf far in the distance. After a while, Brienne shifted so she was facing Jon. Her face was guilt-ridden.

“Jon, I’m so sorry.” She looked down, then up into his eyes, her expression soft. “I did not think. About you.”

“Daenerys? I actually _did_ kill the woman I loved, after all.” He bowed his head. “It was the hardest choice I’ve ever had to make. I - I - nearly couldn’t do it.”

“She was dangerous. She incinerated the whole city. You _had_ to do it.”

“I had to do it, but I was terrified, Brienne.” He felt his insides start to shake; he had never talked to anyone about this before. “She was victorious, happy, full of plans for liberating other parts of the world with dragon fire, as she did with King’s Landing. She had no idea the magnitude of what she’d done, the people that she killed. She wanted me by her side. She was jubilant. She kissed me. I kissed her back…and plunged a dagger in her heart. She died in my arms. Her face was all astonishment.”

He was crying now, hard and uncontrolled, harsh sobs wracking his body. Brienne enfolded him into her arms and held him, her hand stroking his head and shoulders. As he pressed his face into her strong shoulders, he had a vague realization that no one had ever held him like this before; no one had ever comforted him like this - not Catelyn, not Ygritte, certainly not Dany. Gods, it felt both strange and good. He clung to her, finding refuge in the warm solidity of her body.

Eventually he pulled away, a little embarrassed. Brienne looked at him with warm, empathetic eyes, and he somehow felt better. She squeezed his hand. They turned around to warm their fronts by the fire. They both stared at the flames; Jon wondered what the Red Woman saw when she looked into the fires for so long.

Brienne turned her face to him, her face serious. “What was it like? Death?”

Jon smiled grimly. “That was the first thing the Red Woman asked me when I returned. What did you see? I told her. I saw nothing. Death was just blackness. An annihilation. There is nothing beyond death, at least from what I saw.”

She nodded. “That’s why we must live, I suppose.”

Jon stared at her face, tinged pink by the warmth of the fire. He nodded, believing for the first time in many months that living might be worthwhile after all. 

=====

It was the fifth time in a row that she easily knocked Pod down into the dirt. There he lay, exhausted and sprawling leisurely on the ground.

“Come on, Pod! You’re not concentrating.”

“No, Ser. Sorry Ser.” He rolled himself to sitting up, looking worn out.

Brienne sighed and sat down beside him, passing him a waterskin.

“Is there something on your mind, Pod?”

He looked at her and smiled faintly. “It’s just that, Ser…,”

“You’re a knight now, Pod. You can call me Brienne.”

He wrinkled his brow. “I just wonder if you’re okay, Ser…er…Brienne.”

She looked at him with surprise, her expression softening. “You’re worried about me, Pod?” He nodded.

She sighed. “I’m all right now. I was upset for a while, and you’ve been so good helping me through that, truly, but I’m glad to be going home.”

“I just want you to be happy, Brienne.” His eyes were wide and concerned.

“I don’t know about happiness, Pod. I think I’ve had my share during that short time in Winterfell.” She smiled gently at him. “One mustn’t get too greedy for happiness, I think.”

“But Ser, you deserve to be happy. Even now.” Pod looked at her mournfully. “And I can’t help but be mad at Ser Jaime. He shouldn’t have left you. He should have stayed.”

She nodded, touched at the young man’s loyalty. “Jaime never denied his love for Cersei. He was with her for over twenty years, Pod. Can you imagine?”

“But she was evil. Crazy.”

“He said to me once, ‘We can’t choose who we love’ and I suppose that’s the truth of it.”

She took a sip of water from the waterskin. “To be honest, Pod, in Winterfell, I had hoped that he loved me and would want to stay with me, but I don’t think I really believed it. There must have been a reason that we never talked about the future, never planned for what would happen after the war in King’s Landing. Perhaps he was already planning to go to his death with his sister right then.”

She sighed again and patted the young man on the arm. “Love and family were never part of my future, you know.”

Pod shook his head and frowned in protest. “I think you’re wrong, Ser.” She shook her head.

His gaze moved to Jon brushing the horses, despite the earlier objections of Pod that it was _his_ job.

“Do you think he’ll be happy?” They both looked at the slim, dark haired man, his hands gently stroking a horse’s flank.

“I certainly hope so,” Brienne said. “If anyone deserves it after all he’s been through, it’s Jon.”

“I’m glad we’re taking him to Tarth,” Pod said with conviction.

Brienne nodded in agreement and they sat in silence, watching Jon carefully brush a mare’s coat, his face calm and serious.

After a while, she turned back to face Pod, pulling him up to his feet. She grabbed up their swords and nudged her former squire.

“Come. On your feet. Break time is over. Pick up your sword, young knight.”

Pod grinned.

=====

They were greeted at Storm’s End by the newly appointed and legitimized Lord Gendry Baratheon. Brienne was struck, as she was every time she laid eyes on Gendry, how alike he looked to Renly. But upon closer inspection, she always noticed how much broader in the chest and arms he was, how much more rough and brusque Gendry’s manners were compared to his uncle. They said Gendry actually favoured Robert when the great man was in his youth. Gendry greeted them warmly, happy to encounter people from his former life.

Truth be told, Gendry was still chafing in his new role as the Lord of Storm’s End. He had gone from a nothing blacksmith bastard in King’s Landing, to a bloody Lord. He wasn’t used to this role, just as he wasn’t used to the fancy, embroidered new clothes that he had been made to wear. The dragon queen had foisted this title on him, and he had struggled when he arrived. But he eventually gained the respect of those at the castle, by not putting on airs and asking a lot of questions. Gods, they also made him take all sorts of lessons. Even dancing lessons. He was glad to see Brienne and Jon; they had known him before he was a lord and would treat him as a human being, not some highborn money pouch.

“You’re my liege lord now, you know?” Brienne said teasingly.

Gendry groaned. “Ugh, not you too, Brienne. All of this lord business is doing my head in, I swear.” He leaned close to her and Jon. “And on top of that, I’m trying to learn how to read.” He rubbed his head. “Do you know how hard it is to learn letters when you’re a grown man?”

“Good for you, Gendry. If anyone can do it, you can. I’ve never met anyone as hard-headed as you,” Brienne said, smiling.

“It takes one to know one,” Gendry grumbled.

There was one thing that he was pleased with. He had put in a new forge in Storm’s End, and insisted on reshaping Jon and Brienne’s amour which had been so dented by recent battles, saying that the activity was relaxing for him and kept him from going absolutely crazy.

=====

Brienne still had to take a breath whenever she saw Gendry. In the early days of his acquaintance, remembered thinking that he might have been a ghost; after all, from seeing the shadow bearing Stannis’ face, she could no longer doubt the impossible. Thank gods that was over, and she saw Gendry as he was: a rather imposing, handsome young man who was a little overwhelmed by the changes in his fortune over the past few months.

He approached her as she was admiring the tall, impossibly thick walls of the castle. It was said that Storm’s End had never been taken by force, and Brienne could see why. Inside these walls, not even the harsh storm winds could get through.

“Have you heard from Arya?” Gendry said a little awkwardly as he walked with her around the grounds.

Brienne threw the young man a sympathetic look. “Not yet. I did see her off though, on that direwolf ship of hers. She seemed in good spirits. Excited. You know.”

Gendry nodded, his face a little strained. “She always liked being on the road. I suppose that’s what happens when you’re forced to run away when you’re so young.”

“Still, I can’t help wishing that things were different.” He hung his head.

“You asked her to stay?” Brienne asked, observing his face with interest.

“I asked her to marry me and be my lady.” He looked at her and smiled wryly. “She was kind about it – kind as Arya _can_ be – but very directly said that this life was not for her and I should find me another woman who’d be more fit to be my bride.”

“Oh, Gendry,” Brienne sighed. “I’m sorry.”

He shrugged and straightened his shoulders. “It’s all right. It’s not like I was expecting her to say yes.” He looked at the castle and the stone walls of his new home. “I have a lot to learn about being Lord here. I figure I can wait a while before I need to look for a wife. In case she comes back.”

He looked at her and gave her an easy smile. She was glad that he looked less angry now he was settled, even though he’d had his share of sorrows. She recalled how he used to walk around with a scowl and had always met her gaze with a suspicious glare. Times had changed.

“Come, Brienne. Let me show you how I fixed up your armor,” he said casually as they walked together toward the courtyard.

=====

Poor Podrick did not have sea legs, having had his feet planted firmly on the ground for most of his young life. But the sea did terrible things to his stomach, and he felt that the waves were churning in his head and poisoning his insides. It was all he could do but sip a little broth and moan painfully in the vomit-stunk cabin that Jon was unfortunate enough to share with him. Brienne was also often by his side, encouraging him to eat and drink and sleep.

It was a blessing that Jon did not need much rest, as it was difficult to get any sleep in the same cabin as poor Pod. It was also lucky that the skies had been clear so far on their journey, as the Narrow Seas were notorious for violent storms. Jon admired the silence of the night, the peacefulness of the stars up above him; he was glad to be away from King’s Landing, for there was something terrible about the city which made him deeply uncomfortable. There were too many people, too many strange and pungent smells of unwashed flesh, fish, sewage, and smoke. So many perished that afternoon by dragon fire. They weren’t even able to count the bodies, as many had been incinerated to ashes. But he knew that many people were missing their loved ones, and entire families had disappeared.

It was good to get away from the city. Even with the new court, there were always nobles wanting to gossip and involve themselves in machinations of power and privilege. Jon did not want any of that. He tried not to think about his true identity, how some would consider him the rightful heir to the throne. But that was the whole point of the war, wasn’t it? To get away from that monarchy, the idea of succession by blood. That was what Dany had claimed she wanted, to ‘break the wheel,’ she said, while at the same time declaring herself rightful heir and telling everyone of her blood right. Looking back on it now, it was contradictory and didn’t make much sense.

“Jon.”

He turned to see Brienne, wrapped in a blanket, walking toward him. She held out another blanket to him, which he accepted and draped over his shoulders. He couldn’t help but smile when he saw her. Since the war, she had been a true comfort. He liked her steadiness, her patience, how she never had expectations of who she wanted him to be. He had been mentally and emotionally drained, and Brienne’s presence had gradually revived him and made him feel like he was more himself. She stood next to him now, leaning on the wooden railing of the ship, and stared out to the sea.

“I was just thinking about Dany. How much I believed in her.” Jon turned to look at her profile, with her strange crooked nose and plump lips.

“You loved her.”

He looked at Brienne’s face, shadowed by the night, but her eyes were wide and glittering as if stars had made their home in them.

“I _thought_ I loved her. Perhaps I convinced myself that I loved her.” Brienne gave him a curious look.

“Maybe I made myself believe in the story – the dragon queen of fire, and me, King of the North and of snow. It seemed like we were _supposed_ to fall in love, as if we were destined, as if someone else was writing our story and all we had to do was follow.”

He chuckled ruefully.

“I wonder if I truly loved her. If I truly loved her, would I have been able to plunge that dagger into her heart and watch her die?”

Brienne’s face was soft and sympathetic. “Oh Jon,” she said.

“I don’t even think of her as someone I used to love. Isn’t that awful?” Jon looked bitter. “The moment I learned she was my aunt, something fundamentally changed between us. I couldn’t even kiss her without feeling a twist in my belly. So I stopped kissing her. Perhaps that made her mad, I don’t know.”

“Hush,” Brienne gripped him hard on the shoulders and turned him toward her. “What she did on that dragon was not your fault. Look, I don’t know if she was crazy or just crazy with all the losses that she endured, but the bells of the city were ringing in surrender. She made a conscious choice to burn the city and all those people in it. The women. The children.”

Brienne’s eyes were even bluer in the moonlight and he was moved by the fierceness of her words, her face stern, and he found himself reaching for her. His arms were around her thick waist in an embrace, his head falling on her shoulder. She stiffened in surprise, but almost immediately relaxed in his arms, bringing her long arms around him, a soft hand stroking his head. It was comforting, to be in her arms, and Jon could not help but notice the feel of her body, the strong, firm planes of her chest and back. She was so warm, and it seemed to Jon that she poured that warmth into his cold veins.


	3. Chapter Three: Tarth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne, Pod, and Jon arrive in Tarth. Life goes on....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My friends, what an unstable, scary time we're living in. Please take care of yourselves and be safe. Sending you my love and well-wishes.

Tarth was a place he’d never thought he’d find himself living in; it was too ideal, its waters were too blue, and it was too lovely, with lush forests, tree-covered mountains, rivers, and lakes. It was temperate, and the west side of the island, where Evenfall Hall was located, was mild and buffeted from most of the violent and cold winds of the Narrow Sea. Jon had never lived anywhere permanently south of Winterfell, so he had to become accustomed to not wearing his furs and wool cloaks. It was a change not to feel cold all the time, to have so much freedom of movement in his thin clothes.

Evenfall Hall, Brienne’s ancestral home, was a large white castle that rose up from rocky cliffs, plain in appearance with few ornamental flourishes and a large tower that overlooked the sea. The interior was similarly sparse, but the castle had large windows that allowed much natural light into the rooms, and the views of the sea were the only decoration the castle needed. Despite the recent invasion of the Golden Company, Evenfall Hall was mostly intact with areas here and there where walls had been burned or destroyed; it appeared that the most of the damage was done to Tarth itself: the quarries, the markets, harbours, and the houses of smallfolk on the island.

When they arrived at Evenfall Hall, Jon saw an abnormally tall and broad man, his hair white, waiting to greet them. Brienne uncharacteristically squealed and sprinted to the man (her father, Jon presumed) and threw herself into the giant’s embrace. The man was immense. Jon truly felt like a boy in front of him.

“Brienne!” Selwyn Tarth smiled a wide smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. He looked joyous upon regarding the daughter he hadn’t seen in years. He was a full head taller than Brienne, with a large, lanky frame, a balding head of white hair that stuck out in all sorts of directions. “You are a sight for sore eyes,” the man continued, “Are you truly here to stay, my starlight?”

Brienne smiled widely, showing all of her white crooked teeth. “I am here to stay, father, if you’d have us.” She gestured to Pod and Jon. “This is Podrick Payne, my young former squire, now a new knight.”

Pod grinned shyly at the older man and bowed. “Ser Evenstar.”

“And this is Jon Snow. He’s from the North.” Selwyn Tarth stared at Jon and nodded in a vaguely friendly way.

“I have heard of you, Lord Snow. You were King of the North, were you not? Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch?”

Jon nodded. “Yes. But King and Commander and Lord I am no more. Thankfully.” He cleared his throat. “That is all in the past. I seek peace and a quiet life now.”

Brienne smiled softly at him and Selwyn’s blue eyes softened.

“Well, Jon Snow and Podrick Payne. You are welcome here to stay with us and perhaps be of use. Any friend of Brienne is a friend to Tarth, and to me.” His words were full of welcome, but the man had the look of a father placating the whims of his young child.

Jon and Pod were put in chambers in the family wing, near Brienne’s rooms, at her insistence; the Evenstar had his quarters in the tower, on the other side of the castle. Jon’s rooms were much in the same style as the hall, simply furnished but comfortable. He had a magnificent view of the sea. He unpacked all his meagre belongings slowly, and placed his all-black clothes in the wardrobe. He sat a while, listening to the nearby waves.

He was used to the clamour of soldiers, the shrill and loud voices of children and servants of the Winterfell courtyard, so the relative quiet of this place was unusual and rather welcome. While walls of Winterfell were grey stone, but the walls here were white stone and marble. The change in the colour of the walls made everything feel lighter. He felt that perhaps he could find the peace he wanted here.

=====

“Your Jon Snow is a sad man,” Selwyn Tarth said to his daughter contemplatively. They were in his solar, the views from which overlooked the wide expanse of the straits. The sunshine made the white walls of the room nearly blinding.

Brienne smiled at her father with a serious expression. “He’s not _my_ Jon Snow. But he did lose his lover, the dragon queen. You must have heard. He had to kill her to save countless lives.”

He winced. “An impossible choice.” His face turned somber. “When I heard that she destroyed King’s Landing with her dragon, I couldn’t believe it. I worried for you, and hoped you had been up North during the destruction.”

“I was in Winterfell. I only came down when they were deciding who was to be the next King. Father, the city was a horrible sight to behold. So many people died. So many women, and children…burned where they stood. The stench…I never want to smell that ever again.”

“Gods. It’s a wonder that people survived. But I’m glad that you weren’t there to witness it, child.” He looked at her thoughtfully. “And yet, daughter, you have the same particular sadness that Snow has. Did you lose someone you…loved, perhaps?” He gave her a sharp look. She wasn’t surprised; even though they hadn’t seen her in years, he still could read her expressions.

Brienne simply nodded. “Jaime.”

“The Kingslayer? I have heard tales of your…attachment to each other over the years.” Brienne had written him in the vaguest terms of their capture by the Bloody Mummers, but she pointedly left out any other personal references to Jaime. However, she knew there were birds everywhere and rumours, especially salacious ones, got around.

She coloured, her face heating. “His name is Jaime… _was_ Jaime. Not Kingslayer, father.”

Her father gave her a sly, knowing look, then frowned. “He died?”

“Yes. In King’s Landing.” She turned her face toward him, red and stubborn. “I don’t know what you’ve heard, but he was a good man. An honourable man. Trying to save those he loved, even til the end.”

His gaze regarded her slowly and calmly. “You loved him a great deal.”

“Yes.” It was pointless to deny it.

“Did he love you back?”

She hesitated, her face taking on a pained look. “I believe so; as much as he could. In his own way. At least for a time.”

Brienne felt her throat constrict, and her eyes fill with tears. She murmured excuses, and avoiding her father’s eyes, fled from the room.

=====

She’d had to adjust to the idea _no-Jaime_. There had been periods in the past where she had not seen or heard from him for years, and somehow she had endured. But there was always a part of her that instinctively knew that they would see each other again – if only a glimpse, a chance meeting. She remembered Riverrun, meeting him in his tent, the redness of the fabric giving his skin a warm glow. She was inwardly elated to see his face. At the time, it had been two years, and so much had happened, and she remembered how she was near tears when he’d told her that he was proud of her for fulfilling her quest to find Sansa. She knew then that he regarded her as a true knight, and it was all she could to hold herself together. The way he looked at her then, and at other times since he gave her his priceless Valyrian steel sword, was strange and intense and made her feel certain things like hope. She knew her own face must have told all, for she was never one for deception, and people could read exactly what she was feeling on her ugly face. Jaime most of all. He must have known how she cared.

The realization that there was no respite from the absence of Jaime and that there would never be, filled her with a dread that settled deep in her stomach. There was sorrow and blankness where anger should have been. She had been incensed – _furious_ – when Jaime ran off, saying cruel words to her in the middle of the night in that courtyard at Winterfell. She had been _enraged_ when she learned that he had rushed to the Red Keep in a suicidal effort to save his sister-lover. She had been devastated when she learned that Cersei was pregnant with Jaime’s child, a fact that he had conveniently neglected to tell her. She thought bitterly about the possibility that she may have gotten with his child, for they lay together often enough, and laughed at herself when she imagined both of his lovers having his babies at the same time. But when she learned he had died all she felt was a black grief that swallowed up her whole being. It paralyzed her and squeezed her heart until she could feel it nearly disintegrate.

But Tarth was helping, and knowing that Jaime had never set foot on the isle. There would be no reminders of him. Instead, she saw reminders of her old self: that ugly, awkward, utterly romantic fool of a girl who had dreamed of love and being a knight. She supposed she should feel herself lucky that she experienced both: she was a knight, and very briefly, was in love. Many people never got their dreams fulfilled. Yes. Tarth helped. And being around Pod helped, and getting to know Jon better.

Instead of Jaime’s arms, she had the sounds of the sea to lull her to sleep. Instead of his kisses, she had the gentle breezes on a calm day; instead of his searing touch, she had the fierce wind and rain whipping her clothes around her body.

She kept herself, Pod, and Jon busy in the first few months on Tarth. There was a great deal of rebuilding to do, and the three of them traversed the island to visit families and assess damage to homes and farms. The east side of the island was ravaged, especially the docks, and it was their first priority to get the harbor back in business. The fishermen were already back at their trade, their boats bobbing toward the Narrow Sea. The residents of Tarth soon got used to the image of Brienne flanked by her two dark-haired male companions, and any thought of impropriety about a woman galavanting with two single men was quickly dashed. The smallfolk loved the Evenstar, and remembered well his ungainly, overly tall daughter with rough yellow hair that had first played with, then fought with their boys. Even though Brienne was shy, they all knew her kindness and came to love this new warrior-maiden version of her that had returned to their island. No matter the company she kept.

As to the rumours of her dalliance with the dead Kingslayer and her relations with the former King of the North, well, it wasn’t their business, was it? Ser Pod and Jon Snow were kind and hard-working, and ready enough to get their hands dirty and their backs sweaty. She noticed that Jon’s quiet determination earned the respect of noble and smallfolk alike – there was something to him that made people listen and want to follow him. No wonder the North united under his leadership, despite the simultaneous threats of the Others and the South; no wonder that the present leadership in King’s Landing – including Sansa in the North – wanted him in their lands no longer. Slowly but surely, Tarth began to get back to its former incarnation: trade with the east, mining of marble, fishing, sheep farming and wool gathering.

=====

Brienne was underground, in a dark cellar or a crypt, and she heard the incessant crash of waves against stone. The sea was near, and she could smell the harsh salt in the air. Oathkeeper was in her hands, its blade glowing blue, and strangely, she was naked. She looked up and saw in front of her, on the other side of the cavern, Jaime, also naked, holding a similarly glowing Widow’s Wail. She smiled and almost ran up to him but she noticed that he was shielding something with his large body, holding someone in his arms. Brienne held her breath and moved a little forward to get a better look, and she gasped when she saw the perfect and naked Cersei in his arms. Even though the small woman was crying, she was still ravishing in the near dark, and Brienne could see the clear curve of her pregnant belly. Jaime held her and comforted her and did not even notice that Brienne was there, when all of a sudden she felt a rumbling above her, growing to a deafening crash. She then saw stone fall from the ceiling, and she tried to run to them, to push them out of the way of the rocks, but Jaime and Cersei only had eyes for each other, and he was murmuring into Cersei’s ear, and she was crying, and their naked bodies were pressed against each other, and Brienne could see Widow’s Wail becoming dimmer as he dropped it, and the whole ceiling fell upon them.

She woke up with a gasp. Her throat was raw. She was sobbing. And for some moments, she had no idea where she was, whether still in that cavern or somewhere else. She felt arms around her and for a very brief moment she thought she was in Jaime’s arms, but she heard him now, murmuring her name, trying to bring her back to herself. _Jon_.

“Brienne, Brienne, it’s okay. It was a dream,” Jon called to her, his voice deep and soothing. He ran his fingers through her hair, over and over, until she felt herself slowly becoming grounded, coming back to Tarth, to Evenfall Hall, to her bedroom. She quieted, her breathing becoming more regular. The waves she heard were of outside. After a while, she was dimly aware that the front of Jon’s tunic was drenched with her tears, and that she was clinging to his shoulders. She drew herself away from him, self-conscious, and saw his concerned face in the dim orange light of a candle by her bedside.

“Jon. I’m sorry. Did I wake you?” Jon let her go, but continued to stroke her arm lightly.

“No. I was awake – I couldn’t sleep, and I walked past your room and heard you crying out.” He looked down. “My apologies for barging in. I didn’t know what to do and you were so distressed.”

Brienne shook her head and grabbed both of his hands. “No, no, it’s all right. I thank you, Jon.”

She sighed. “I had a nightmare. I saw Jaime and Cersei in each other’s arms, and I saw rocks fall on top of them.” She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to chase the lingering vision away. Jon pulled her into his arms again, and she relaxed into him. She was glad he was there, so solid, warm, and kind. He lowered her back down on the bed.

He looked down at her with dark eyes. “I’m sorry you lost him, Brienne.” He stroked her cheek, warm and wet from weeping. She hiccupped in response.

“Close your eyes, Brienne,” he said gently. “Try to get back to sleep.” He continued to stroke her hair as he sat next to her on the bed. His fingers were light and soothing, and soon enough, she entered into a dreamless sleep.

When she awoke the next morning, well rested, he was gone.

=====

“You wanted to see me, father?” Brienne entered the solar and approached Selwyn as he was sitting at his desk before a stack of papers. “Is it regarding the mines? Or the new market that’s opening up?” He frowned at the stack of papers under his nose.

She looked at him as if she was seeing him for the first time in a while, her gaze clear and observant. She took in the lines on his face, his spare form. “Are you well, father?”

“It’s just growing old, child.” Selwyn was aware that he was moving slower, that all his hair had turned white. He was in his sixties, with some years of life left, or so he hoped. Yet he worried, mostly about his only child and heir. It was good to have his daughter back, even if she did bring back a couple of wide-eyed strays with her. He wanted her to be happy, and couldn’t help but notice the dark cloud that had accompanied her from King’s Landing; yet she did seem a little more lighthearted as the months wore on, and soon it would be a year since the destruction of King’s Landing. He knew, from experience, how harshly the loss of a loved one can smart, but he also knew that with time, that immediate pain would slowly fade, though the memory of the loss will still undoubtedly remain.

“I know I have many years left, Seven willing, but I have been thinking more and more about how I would like to enjoy my last decade or so on this earth.” Brienne gave him a sharp look. “I have been Evenstar for nearly four decades! I have considered this matter since you returned, my child. I think it’s about time for you to take over.”

His daughter looked at him with a shocked expression. He smiled at her. “Oh, I know that traditionally, the Evenstar has to die before the next one is determined, but I do want to live my life a little, and besides, you are more than ready to lead, Brienne.”

Brienne shook her head. “Father…I am decidedly not ready. Everything is still too new…I can’t.”

Selwyn gave her an assessing, steady look. “You will be ready within a few months, I think. The smallfolk already love you. You and your two men have done much to improve the island since you returned from King’s Landing. It will be a gradual shift, Brienne. You’ll be ready.”

His daughter nodded. She was a good person and dutiful, and he was thankful for her pure heart; he thought that she had gotten it from her mother, who was also impossibly good. He knew she would make a good Evenstar. Yet a part of him still worried. She needed someone to balance out her purity and lack of guile. He knew that he would need to approach this subject rather delicately, given their disastrous history with betrothals.

He touched the papers on his desk and arranged them. Brienne looked at him expectantly. “We are to have a celebration in a moon’s time. A celebration of your return, and an announcement of the plans for you to take over as Evenstar.”

She opened her mouth to object, but closed her mouth and eventually nodded, silent.

He stood up and took her hands, looking at her with a mixture of concern and love. “I worry about you, Brienne. Not about you being Evenstar – I know you’ll be a good leader to our people – but about you being lonely. I know you, my daughter. You need someone by your side.”

Brienne shook her head.

“I know you have loved and lost. And how you think you’ll likely never be over this grief. But you need to think about your future and at least attempt to find love again. Don’t stay in love with a ghost. There is nothing noble about continuing to love a dead man.”

“But father, _you_ never remarried,” she said, objecting.

“No, I didn’t. But I had you and Galladon to love, so my heart was full.” He looked at her with a twinkle in his eye. “Besides, I _have_ looked for love. Experienced brief bouts of it, as you very well know. That’s what I hope to do when you take over my position. To live, away in some corner of the isle, hopefully with a good woman by my side.”

Her eyes were very steady and blue as she absorbed his words. She would not begrudge him this, he hoped.

“It’s my desire that you will find someone at the celebration. There aren’t too many eligible men from the noble houses left, I’m afraid, but at least most will be attending the party.”

Brienne could not help but scowl.

Selwyn sighed. “I won’t force you into a marriage again, Brienne. I’ve learned my lesson. But I hope you open yourself up to love. You can be both Evenstar and wife, and if the gods be good, a mother. If anyone can do it, you can.”

=====

The party turned out to be a joyous one, with houses all over the Stormlands attending. The gathering was to celebrate Brienne as the future Evenstar, but many people also took it as a celebration of the end of the war, since they had recently passed the year anniversary of the war’s end. The noble and smallfolk alike were finally settled in their lives, finally confident that no more wars were brewing. They had peace at last; food stores were plentiful, work was abundant, and fun was to be had. Families began to grow, as more and more women became with child. People seemed happy and content.

Guests from the houses Caron, Dondarrion, Connington, Penrose, and Selmy, amongst others, arrived for the celebration. Evenfall Hall opened its doors, as the halls were decorated with flowers and evergreen boughs. Tables were heavy with food and drink. A group of musicians played in the main hall, as couples danced and sang merrily along.

Brienne had dreaded the party; there was nothing she hated more than hundreds of eyes upon her brutish, gangly, awkward form. Handmaids Vala and Sara did their best with her, Brienne had to admit. The dressmaker did a fine job, making a simple dress that showed off her collarbones and long neck and that had no decoration save pleating and embroidery in the same deep blue as the dress. The skirt was thankfully long enough and had just the right flow and movement; it swished luxuriously around her legs as she walked. Vala braided and pinned her hair away from her face in a neat style – Brienne was thankful that her hair was long enough to be styled, and Sara fastened on her dress a sapphire broach that once belonged to her mother. In the end, she looked in the mirror and managed not to wince at her reflection. Somehow, the dress emphasized her long lines, and crucially did not make it seem that she was _trying_ to be pretty, and yet it still suggested womanliness. The colour was good on her – she remembered with a pang Jaime’s first complement, praising her about how well she looked in the blue of her dress, and felt a brief ache.

For the first time, she was rather pleased at her reflection in womanly clothes; she wasn’t beautiful and would never be, but she looked acceptable, and strong, and she thought that a kindness could be gleaned in her face and figure. It was a change, she thought to herself. How fighting the dead, killing enemy soldiers, escaping death over and over, and most of all, experiencing desire and love could change how she thought of herself. Her past: the bet, the dance, the mockery of her looks and overbearing strength – all of that had tourtured her, but now they were just a _part_ of the past, and rather inconsequential in the whole scheme of things. Staring death in the face gives a person perspective, she thought.

Not that people dared to mock her to her face or even behind her back in her own home. She was nonetheless surprised at this, as she encountered face upon face filled with awed, respectful, and shy expressions. One by one, the men and women of the houses bowed and greeted her, and she imagined herself in her father’s shoes and nodded benignly, saying a few pleasant words to each one. Her next task was to give a short address to the crowd, which she did, a little haltingly at first, but it was soon over and it was all she could do but escape to the terrace after the feast. The sun had already set, as the evening began to grow cold. The sky was clear though, darkening to a deep blue.

“Daughter,” her father called to her, as he joined her on the terrace. “Are you all right? You did well in there.”

She nodded. “Yes, father. It felt close in there and I just needed some air.” She gave him a curious look. “It’s strange though. No one seemed to mock me or make fun of me. It was not what I expected.”

Selwyn looked somber. “It saddens me that you still expect mockery, my child. People can be cruel, and I know you’ve experienced more than your share. But you will be the new Evenstar. Tales are being told of your battle prowess in the fight with the Others. You are the first female knight in the seven kingdoms. You are a hero, and heroes are not to be mocked.”

Brienne was astonished; she had never thought of her life in that way, and never thought that people would see her in an admirable light. She had always assumed that other people’s esteem would have to be earned by her one by one, but she would never have thought that her ugliness, lack of grace, and more recently, her well-known affair with the Kingslayer, would ever be overlooked.

“Come, my daughter. Let’s go back.” Her father offered his arm and they walked back to the waiting strains of laughter and music.

=====

She found herself in Gendry’s arms, moving with him awkwardly to the music. The Lord of Storm’s End looked dashing in his green and back doublet and close-fitting breeches, and Brienne for a brief moment was reminded of how Renly saved her from the mocking young men when he danced with her in this very room so many years ago. Yet the resemblance ended there; while Renly was a smooth, graceful dancer, Gendry was shambling and unsure. He stepped on her slippers too many times to count. Brienne smiled at him reassuringly and subtly led him in the dance as they moved toward the edges of the ballroom to avoid collisions with other couples.

“I’m awfully sorry, Brienne. It’s still a struggle for me, despite the lessons the masters made me attend,” Gendry sighed, frowning.

Brienne grinned. “I’ve never been one for dancing either, so I’m glad that someone else feels as awkward as I do.”

He relaxed visibly. “I sure am glad you’re around.” He looked around him. “I can’t stand being with all these noble men and women. And the ladies, they’re the worst, going around in fancy dresses, smelling too much like flowers, and clinging to my arm as if they were drowning.”

Brienne laughed. “I noticed you’ve been getting your share of female attention. You are one of the most eligible marriage prospects in the realm, Gendry. It’s no wonder they are gracing you with such… _ardent_ attentions.”

“I don’t like it. My small council wants me to marry some lady and start producing heirs.” He looked at her a little despondently. “But I don’t wish to marry as yet….”

“You’re awaiting word from Arya?” Brienne looked at him with interest.

He nodded glumly. “She’s already turned me down, of course. She practically urged me to marry another, but I can’t as yet.”

Brienne looked at him sympathetically. “Arya is rather difficult to forget. She’s exceptional, brave, and so bloody determined.” She remembered their sparring sessions in Winterfell with fondness; it was with astonishment that Brienne realized that the tiny young woman was absolutely lethal.

“She is,” he said longingly. He met her gaze. “She rather reminds me of you, Brienne.”

She let out a skeptical laugh. “In some ways yes, in other ways no. Still, I have no doubt she will return. But in truth, I do not know if she ever would want to get married and have a family.”

Gendry pursed his lips and nodded. “I know. She will likely never have me. But I’m giving myself a bit more time before I marry. Who knows? Perhaps I will forget her and want her less with time. Perhaps I can persuade myself to love another.”

They had given up on dancing at this point and were standing in the corner, talking. In the distance, she spotted a pair of pretty women come toward them, their sights set on the tall young man next to Brienne. She smirked at him and slid away, much to his consternation, as she left him to his approaching admirers.

She giggled, and looked around. Much to her delight, she saw Pod dancing with a smiling brown haired girl. He looked smitten. She searched the room for Jon, but she had not seen him since she addressed the audience earlier in the evening.

=====

“There you are,” Brienne said, stepping onto the spacious balcony near their rooms. All was quiet and most of the guests had retired. Jon was leaning against the stone balustrade, overlooking the dark sea.

Jon turned around and greeted her with a pleased expression as she stood next to him. “Brienne,” he said, looking her up and down. “Have I told you tonight how lovely you look?”

Brienne blushed, shaking her head in dismissal. He stared at her. “No, don’t do that. You really do. I’ve never seen you in a dress before. I like you in armor and breeches, but the dress suits you. If it means anything, I do think you look beautiful.”

She bit her lip to stop a denial from coming out of her mouth. Instead she said softly, “Thank you.”

Jon was dressed in black, as usual, but his clothes were extra fine, his doublet a soft black velvet. “You look handsome tonight, Jon.”

Jon smiled and looked pleased.

“But I did not see you most of the evening. Were you hiding?”

Jon laughed softly. “A little. I saw you speak and enjoyed watching you greet all the Stormlanders. Then yes, I did hide a bit. I’ve never been one for these formal celebrations.” He looked at the reflection of the moon on the water. “In Winterfell, I was never included because I was the bastard, and even then, I usually sat with the stable boys or the servants. They were more fun anyhow. But because of that, I never enjoyed socializing with the highborn, I suppose.”

“Well, I grew up with these formal events and I still feel out of place, if it’s any consolation.”

“I saw you dancing with Gendry. Was he trying to woo you, my lady?” Jon gave her an easy smile.

Brienne snorted. “He still pines over Arya. But he is being quite aggressively pursued by many gentlewomen.”

“And you, Brienne? I don’t suppose you’ve met your future husband, as your father had intended?”

“Hardly.” She rolled her eyes. “I believe Pod is having more luck in terms of finding romance. But then, he has always been appealing to ladies, apparently, if Tyrion is to be believed.”

The light of the moon illuminated the sharp, pleasing planes of Jon’s face. His eyes looked black and dark in this light.

“My father has always wanted me to marry and continue the Tarth line.” Brienne’s voice was quiet, her expression serious. “But no one wanted to marry me when I was a young girl, so why would anyone marry me now?”

“Brienne.” Jon’s voice was protesting.

“I’m uglier than I was, my whole body is full of scars. Everyone knows I’m no longer a maid. You must have heard what they called me, especially after he left: the Kingslayer’s whore.”

“You’re wrong, Brienne. Do you think anyone cares about whether you’re a maid? You’re a great warrior. You fought and won in the Long Night. Any man would jump at the chance to marry you.” Jon’s eyes fiercely held her gaze, his face determined.

“You are too kind, Jon. It is good of you to say.” She patted him on his arm, a little dismissively.

“Not kindness. Truth.” He stared at her. The way he looked at her heated her face and neck; there was something naked and vulnerable about his words, his face.

“ _I_ would, you know,” he said lightly, his warm hand on hers.

“You would what?” She looked at him in puzzlement.

“Marry you.” She started to smile, but her face turned serious when she looked back at him.

“Marry me? But… _why_?”

Jon nodded. He looked at his hand on top of hers, and he started stroking her skin with his fingertips. She felt a warmth suffuse the places where he touched her.

“I know you don’t love me, that you’ll never love me the way you loved Jaime. But you are the only person I can imagine spending the rest of my days with. You’ve brought me to Tarth, and you’ve brought me peace and happiness. Those things I’d never thought I’d have in all my life. All that makes me hope that I can have even more.”

“Jon, you’re _serious_.” She stared at him in surprise. “But you don’t love me either. Do you?”

He tilted his head, seriously thinking about her question. “I think I love you more than a little, and very much believe that I _could_ love you, Brienne.” His mouth turned down at the corners. “I have experienced that immediate, all-consuming love. But both of the women I fell in love with died in my arms.”

“You could love me? Despite my….” Brienne gestured glumly at her face and body. “I’m not one to look at. And you’re a few years younger than me.”

Jon reached up and cupped her face in his hands. He was much shorter than her, she realized with alarm.

“To me, you’re beautiful, Brienne.” Jon stepped closer, so their bodies were almost touching and she could feel heat radiate from his body. “I know your goodness, I know the beauty of your soul. I know _you_ , Brienne. And what I see of you, what I _know_ of you, appeals to me.”

He gently pulled her face down and grazed his lips to hers. She felt she could barely breathe, but she lowered her head down and kissed him back, softly and slowly. His warm lips felt at first alien and unfamiliar, but pleasant. She felt the beginnings of a familiar stirring. She gently drew back.

Jon’s breath was heavy and warm on her skin. She looked long into his eyes and searched his face for doubt.

“Perhaps it could work,” she said, finally, the corner of her mouth turning up a little.

“Yes, it could work,” Jon murmured into her neck and kissed the sensitive skin there. Brienne let out a little moan. Her head was swimming and she surrendered to the intoxicating nature of his gentle kisses.


	4. Chapter Four: Union

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne and Jon create a new life together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I struggled with the rating of this fic: M or E? My other ones have been E, but this one might not be as explicit? I actually am not clear on the lines between these two ratings to be honest. 
> 
> That is to say, this chapter contains sexual content. :-)

Without much fanfare, they were married in a quiet ceremony by a septon at Evenfall Hall. There was no weirwood tree on Tarth, so the ceremony was by the Light of the Seven. Brienne wore a simple dress of blue, with both Oathkeeper and Widow’s Wail hanging from either sides of her hip. Jon discarded his usual inky blacks for a doublet of sapphire blue to match his bride. The great sword Longclaw hung from his left hip. Neither Jon nor Brienne wanted a big gathering, so it was only in front of close friends and family that they were wed.

One of the guests that arrived to Tarth was Tyrion, who came both as a friend and representative of the crown. Tyrion was both surprised and not at all surprised when he received the invitation to the union of Brienne and Jon. After all, they had left for Tarth over a year ago and had been spending much of their time together; proximity can do much to foster romance, after all. Yet he was surprised that either of them had ventured to love again, considering the disastrous outcomes of their last relationships, both of which literally ended in death. He supposed that was it, that they each had broken hearts and were hurting, and instead of choosing to wither away and die, they chose life. They chose a future together. It was admirable, and he felt a twinge of envy for their ability to take that risk. Tyrion himself had not found another love, and he was the first to admit that he had been burned too harshly to ever try again. His heart was too embittered. Still, if there was hope for someone as solemn as Jon, or as loyal as Brienne, he supposed there was hope for him as well.

He carried gifts and well-wishes from King Bran. With time, Tyrion had come to like The Three-Eyed Raven King, and had seen more and more glimpses of the young Bran he had first met at Winterfell all those years ago, before the wars took over. The king was less remote, less strange, and was less absent from his body than before. A consequence of peace in the kingdoms, Tyrion thought. Still, Bran was unable to come away from the capital for the nuptials in person, though he strongly implied he’d be watching it via his crows. He did seem to approve of the match, happy to hear that his brother was making a life with the warrior Brienne.

Still, Brienne seemed anxious when he met with her in her solar, biting her lip and twisting together her hands, although she initially greeted him with a bright smile. She looked healthy, and a lot less haunted; her skin was clear and luminous and the shadows that had resided in her eyes the last time he saw her had disappeared.

Tyrion looked around at the room, which was large and filled with light. There was a view of the ocean from three sides of the room. It was impressive.

“Your new solar as the Evenstar?” Tyrion said, smiling at the still imposing woman.

“Yes…my father is building a settlement in the North of the isle; he seems to be enjoying his retirement as the former Evenstar.” She handed him a cup of wine, which he readily accepted.

“I must congratulate you on your impending nuptials, Brienne.” He sat himself down on an armchair next to the hearth.

“Do you really?” Brienne said, looking at him with an uncertain expression on her face.

He thought again how her eyes couldn’t hide anything. He looked at her carefully and sighed. “Brienne, if you think I begrudge you any happiness with Jon, you are sorely mistaken and do me dishonor.”

She looked down at her hands. “I don’t want you to think that I’ve forgotten your brother. A part of me will always love him, even though I know he did not feel the same way. I still honour his memory.”

“Oh Brienne. I’m sure Jaime would have wanted you to make a new life and be happy without him. My brother was a fool, but he would have been wise enough to wish you every happiness.” He paused. He reached over and brought her hand to his lips and softly kissed it.

Her eyes grew even bigger and glimmered with unshed tears. “Thank you, Tyrion,” Brienne said softly, and Tyrion saw that this immense, powerful warrior indeed had the tender heart of a maiden.

“Jon is lucky to have you.” Tyrion raised his cup to her and drank deeply.

“As I am to have him,” Brienne answered, a smile blossoming at her lips.

=====

His sisters cornered him in the orchard before the ceremony. Jon had been walking amongst the bare trees, perhaps thinking too much, as was his custom, and didn’t notice until he turned around that Sansa was walking toward him, and next to her, the long lost Arya, whom no one had seen since she left on her ship more than a year ago. She looked about the same, though there was more of a gentleness in her face than before.

He must have run because the next thing he knew he had Arya in a joyous embrace.

“Arya,” Jon murmured into her dark hair. His wolf sister.

Sansa smirked, standing tall next to them. She had arrived a week prior, and was enthusiastically involved with the wedding preparations, much to Brienne’s relief. His sister was able to indulge both her romantic and practical sides in the matter; it was rare to see the usually dignified woman turned to a light-hearted giggling girl again. Having had her share of disastrous marriages, her spirits did not dampen in the face of the joining of her two most beloved people.

“Arya. You’re back.” He immediately wanted to barrage her with questions about what she’d found in her travels, where she went, but he knew better to ask about her whereabouts. Perhaps later they would talk, if she was in the mood to share her secrets.

“And you’re getting married,” Arya said in her blunt way, dark eyes teasing.

He laughed. “Isn’t that what men do after war? Get married and have children?”

“You _want_ to get married, Jon?” She tilted her head and looked at him curiously. “Brienne is-”

“She’s the best person I’ve ever met,” he interrupted. Jon looked at his two sisters pointedly. “She’s helped me – we’ve helped each other – and I can’t imagine not having her by my side.”

He smiled at them warmly. “It’s peaceful here on Tarth. I’d never thought I’d feel that, ever. I’ve been fighting all my life. War after war. And both of us have lost people we love.” Jon touched the branch of the apple tree, bare and leafless for the season. “I feel like I’ve survived the worst winter, and before me is a chance for spring. I must take it.”

Sansa’s face crumpled a little at the romance of it all and both of his sisters (cousins, more correctly, but he would never ever not think about them as sisters) tackled him in an embrace.

=====

The marriage took place at the great hall of Evenfall, surrounded by a small group of loved ones: Selwyn and his companion Merry, Pod and his girl Sylvi, Tyrion, Sansa, Arya and Gendry. They said the vows solemnly and a white silk ribbon was wound around their joined hands. Jon declared he had no house and chose instead to wear the cloak of Tarth, to be under his bride’s protection. Brienne smiled shyly as she removed her pink and blue Tarth cloak and placed it around his shoulders. He was now Jon Snow of Tarth, husband of the Evenstar. The kiss that sealed their union was sober and gentle, as if they both wanted to convey the seriousness of their intent.

Brienne had been nervous prior to the ceremony; she had never thought this would ever happen to her, because she’d been told since she was a child that women like her would never get married, that no man would want her in their beds or in their homes. After Jaime, when her reputation as a Maid was all but tarnished, she never thought she would find someone who would even _tolerate_ being with her. So it was with a gratefulness and an astonishment at the strange turns of life that she found herself sitting at her own wedding feast next to her new husband. How even more fortunate for her that her husband was an honorable and just man, who had sacrificed his personal happiness for peace in the realm. She looked over at Jon, whose cheeks were pink from drink. They both felt the warmth of affection from their friends and family. He was too beautiful, as she stared at his dark curls, his round, dark grey eyes and sharp cheekbones. It would be easy to love him, she thought. He turned to her, meeting her gaze, and he smiled, crinkling his eyes in amusement. He leaned into her and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

Did she feel guilty about Jaime, of leaving the memory of him behind? During the month in Winterfell when it was the two of them, she had secretly fantasized about marrying Jaime, imagining how handsome he would look in his golden doublet, how his eyes would be filled with love for her, and how he would clasp her hand, cloak her in Lannister red and kiss her. She could not lie to herself now and say those thoughts never flashed through her during the ceremony with Jon. But she knew that her dream of Jaime was merely that, a dream that was ephemeral as a false spring, for in the end he revealed who had full possession of his heart. He had proven that to her. And he was _dead, dead, dead,_ and would never return.

She and Jon danced together, standing close, and Brienne could not help but be conscious of their disparity in height and looks, and how strange they must have looked side by side. But Jon did not give any indication of feeling the same way. He pulled her closer, steps be damned, and she felt the length of his body against hers and shivered. She felt both cold and warm, and a pleasant drunkenness came over her, even though she had but two cups of sweet wine. She looked around. She saw Gendry speaking intently to a frowning Arya. Tyrion was laughing and whispering jokes to Sansa. Pod was dancing prettily with his lady love. And she was swaying in Jon’s arms, and the music ran through her, and his breath was hot in her ear, and she did not mind at all.

She led him to her chambers, which had been prepared with a fire, wine, and sweets. There was, of course, no bedding ritual. She had thought perhaps she would be nervous on her wedding night, but her blood was warm and she was imbued with the spirit of love, for all she felt throughout the ceremony and feast was such sincere well-wishes from their loved ones, which was a heady thing. She was filled with an ebullient lightness, as if she had no care in the world, as if melancholy were a foreign thing and neither of them had known either war, death, or heartbreak.

She kissed him first. Jon responded immediately, pulling her body close with a force that made the heat curl in her belly; he kissed her back eagerly, gently probing her mouth with a tentative tongue. She combed her fingers through his hair and felt the corded muscles of his shoulders. His hands ran up and down her body, and she felt she was floating, and she felt that fire build in her that had long since been dormant. He kissed her and kissed her and kissed her until she felt her legs go weak. With a moan, he pulled her even closer and he was hard against her thigh, and she wondered vaguely how a man like Jon would want her in this way. But the feel of his straining manhood against her made her blood even hotter and she boldly drew her hand between them, pressing her hand against his bulge, eliciting a low moan from his throat. He kissed and sucked at her neck until she drew her head back and was nearly swooning.

They undressed each other slowly. Her eyes widened in shock and she drew a breath as she pulled off his shirt and his chest was revealed: a torso full of stab wounds, a few even through his heart. The skin had not scarred over, and the marks were black and red.

“Jon,” she breathed, looking at him with concern. She knew that he had died, and had somehow been brought back by some red witch magic, but seeing the knife wounds left her speechless, and she realized the magnitude of his ordeal.

She gently touched the wounds. “Do they hurt?” Jon shook his head, and drew her lips to his chest. She kissed each of his wounds, and he moaned and melted under her lips and hands.

He unlaced her dress and dragged it off, leaving her in her thin shift. He touched her left shoulder, to the white parallel scars there and looked at her curiously.

“Bear,” Brienne said, smiling as he licked her there.

He looked up quickly, momentarily distracted by her answer. “That story is true? You fought a bear alongside Jaime? I thought that was just a song!”

She nodded and remembered how scared she was and how she had been sure she was going to be mauled and eaten alive when Jaime – out of nowhere – jumped into the pit and foolishly stood in front of her as if he could rescue her with his one hand. She remembered all this, but soon those memories were smudged out by the heat of Jon’s hands and the deft attention of her new husband’s kisses.

Jon kissed and caressed her every time he exposed new skin and soon she was trembling with _need_ as he led her to the bed. She blushed when she pulled down his smallclothes and she saw his impressive cock, hard and jutting in front of him. He was perfect and muscular and his skin was soft, and gods, he wanted her. Brienne felt her own desire, slick and wet and warm between her legs. He laid her down gently and kissed her from her neck to her collarbone; he paid particular attention to her breasts, swirling his tongue around her nipple, sucking and lightly biting, making her arch her back and gasp in surprised pleasure. He kissed her stomach and licked her thighs and he put his mouth at her cunt and dipped his tongue into her wetness, moaning at her taste. He cupped her ass and sucked at her bud, feasting on her with vigor and sensuality; she felt her pleasure come in waves until she exploded and shuddered under him, her body filled with light. He did not stop. He made her break apart again and again until she was limp and boneless. He came up to her then, wiping his face with a discarded tunic, and kissed her sloppily, her musk heavy on his tongue. She sighed and moaned and he pressed his hip against hers and he felt his desperate need. A surge of desire flooded her again, and she pulled him on top of her, opening her legs for him to settle into. She was sopping wet and hot for him, oh she wanted this and he entered her with a rough and helpless moan.

“Gods, Brienne,” Jon gasped, looking into her blue eyes. She moaned and lifted her hips up to meet his as he began to thrust. Oh, it was sweet. She had forgotten how simple this was, between two people, how good it felt. She felt his thick cock press into her most secret places and he thrust harder and faster into her and soon his movements became erratic and he desperately reached between them to rub her nub, and she felt her pleasure climb again and again until she cried out loudly as her passage clutched around him. Soon after, he came with a rough cry of her name, flooding her with warmth, spending himself inside her.

She felt lazy and satiated and fulfilled as Jon collapsed on top of her with a groan. She had never thought she would feel this again, never thought she would have a man inside her. It was lovely and so good and so different, and it seemed more than ever that she could love Jon well, and he her. After a few moments when they were able to catch their breaths, Jon slipped out of her and lay beside her, looking at her with large, astonished eyes. She grinned unabashedly at him.

He smiled back ever so softly. “That was perfect,” he said, giving her a long kiss. He sighed with contentment and nuzzled next to her. They drew their arms around each other and let sleep and exhaustion slowly take them into dreamless slumber.

=====

Jon learned that he slept longer and better when he was beside Brienne, his body entwined with hers. Yet dreams never came, and he couldn’t help but miss them, especially the wolf dreams that he used to have where he was seeing through Ghost’s eyes. He wondered about his wolf often, and hoped that he would find a pack just like he impossibly did for himself on Tarth. He thought how improbable it was that he’d ended up with Brienne as a wife, since she had, for a long time, been a protective shadow to Sansa, always observing and suspiciously lurking in the background.

When Jaime arrived in Winterfell, for the first time, Jon became aware of Brienne as a woman, instead of a just gifted warrior and protector of his sisters. He saw how she blushed in the presence of the Kingslayer, how her eyes rarely left him when he was in the room; he noticed too, how Jaime had always managed to be by her side, how his looks at her were full of adoration. Jon had never been so obvious and open with his regard for the women in his life. Nevertheless, he observed Brienne with a new curiosity, and noticed her bright eyes and the new glow about her that was from more than defeating the dead.

Yet both their spirits were extinguished at the same time, their hearts broken in near the same places. No one else in King’s Landing understood what Jon and Brienne had gone through, even though so many people had died. It was the nature of their hearts – the loyalty and duty that resided at their cores – and how they had both failed to protect the ones they loved. He more than once, Jon thought bitterly. And it surprised him how the more time he spent with Brienne, the more attached to her he became, and not only that, but he realized one day after a morning of sparring when her skin was red and sweaty that he absolutely _wanted_ her. He wanted to taste the salt on her heated skin, he wanted those long, long legs wrapped around him, and he wanted to bury himself in her and forget everything that had happened in the wars.

It was hardly surprising that when they finally consummated their marriage that he desired her all the more. Their wedding night had completely wrecked him, and he marveled at her capacity for acceptance of his scarred body and his sins, and how much she both comforted him and set him on fire at the same time. Likely he annoyed her at how often he pulled her into their bedroom, or an empty study, or how often he locked the door to her solar and looked at her in a particularly lustful way. For he realized he never had a _real_ relationship before – his love with both Ygritte and Dany always had an edge of threat to them, like they were on the verge of possibly killing each other or starting a war that would kill many more. But this steadiness and steadfastness he had with Brienne, it was a rare thing that he was sure he would treasure for all of his life.

The months passed quickly. She took over from Selwyn, who had moved to his estate on the North island with his woman Merry, who was jovial and lived up to her name. He seemed happier, in all honesty. A removal of responsibility could do that to you, as Jon could fully attest, as he himself previously had the weight of the world lifted from his shoulders. He had no official role on Tarth, but he helped where he can, training soldiers, visiting smallfolk alongside Brienne and Pod, consulting with her around governing decisions, helping with her correspondence. He admired his wife, the Evenstar; her shoulders were wide enough to take on the pressures of leadership, and she had a steadier temperament than he ever had. And truly, as he began to earnestly love his wife, he began to love Tarth. He had never seen a landscape so diverse, from rocky shores and cliffs, to deep valleys, to pleasant, sunny meadows and waterfalls. For the first time in his life, he felt like he was home. He felt he had his own family around him at long last.

=====

She thought at first that she had caught a summer flu, so unexpectedly was she hit with a sudden wave of nausea that had her running to the chamber pot. Jon rushed to her side and helped her to the bed, wiping her face with a wet cloth and giving her water to rinse her mouth. But then it happened three more times that week, bouts that made her lightheaded and nauseated an hour or two after breakfast. After some rest, she had felt absolutely fine the rest of the day.

“Brienne,” Jon said, looking at her tenderly. “You must allow me to send for the maester.” She had refused the first few times that she had fallen ill.

“It’s just the stomach flu,” Brienne protested, scowling from the bed.

“I think it might be something vastly different from the stomach flu, Brienne.” His gaze was significant.

She gaped at him. “Surely you don’t think – I could – I could be….”

“We’ve lain together every night,” Jon said softly. “And we’ve been married nearly a year, and I can’t remember the last time you’ve had your moon’s blood.”

Brienne chewed at her lip. “It’s been two moons, at least,” she acknowledged. But she was surprised that it was possible – she thought that if it hadn’t happened in a year that it would never happen. She wasn’t that old, but she wasn’t young, either. And because of the way her body looked, so unfeminine and freakish, she had assumed that bearing a child would be impossible for her. She had thought it was yet another sign that she was ill suited for the life of a normal woman. She stared at her flat belly, still strong and muscular, with no hint of what was possibly growing beneath. It seemed impossible.

Jon grinned broadly. It lit up his whole face. “I have noticed that you’re bigger here,” he said, touching the swells of her breasts. “But you must see a maester today.” He gave her a lingering kiss. She nodded, still half-surprised.

She saw Maester Yaron, and he confirmed their suspicions with a grandfatherly smile, and Brienne felt like a whole other world had opened up for her. She remembered as a young girl wanting marriage and a family, but her Septa repeated to her how no man would want her, and if she happened to get married, her life would be one of servitude to her lord husband. It was then that she rebelled and had different aspirations of becoming a knight. She then resigned herself to being a Maid forever, her love only for the sword and duty. It was beyond her wildest imagination that she could have both: a family and a knighthood; love as well as duty.

Jon was ecstatic, and that night he leisurely tasted every part of her body and made her surrender to pleasure countless times. He doted on her growing breasts. He was insatiable, bringing her to pleasure and fucking her again and again.

“I can’t wait to raise our baby, Brienne,” he crooned in her ear. “I’m going to give it so much love.”

She had been impossibly touched by his words, as she knew about how devoid of love much of his childhood was, and how scarred he was by being a bastard at Winterfell. He had never known a mother’s love, but only scorn from the woman who raised him. Her own mother, like his, died after childbirth, and she supposed that she had never known a mother’s love either. But now things were different; they had new chance to love this new life that was growing inside her. Their child would know love. She vowed it.

=====

There were reports of pirates from the East prowling the waters on the Eastern shore and Jon took a group of men to investigate. Brienne stayed behind, having felt a little unwell that night, and stayed in bed. In any case, Tarth was visited by pirates every once in a while and their soldiers always did well in patrolling and defending the harbour. It looked to be a routine mission, and Jon had proven himself as commander and warrior in these small skirmishes. In fact, Jon rather expressed a fondness for them as he insisted these bouts kept him in battle condition.

Yet that night was different, though the pirates were run off from the shore soon enough. She was shocked to see Jon being carried into their room, bleeding and obviously wounded. It looked like he’d had been stabbed in the shoulder.

“What happened?” she demanded of the men who brought him inside her room.

They exchanged glances. “The harbour is secure, and Lord Snow fought bravely….” the young man cleared his throat. “We don’t know exactly what happened, but Lord Snow collapsed all of a sudden, in the middle of fighting, leaving him open to an attack. Luckily we were able to pull him back.”

“Has he woken up?”

The two men shook their heads, and left the room after having been thanked and dismissed.

She looked at Jon’s pale face, and she had a persistent feeling of something being wrong. The wound was not grievous, and had not punctured his lung, and the loss of blood was insignificant. There was no reason he should be unconscious for this long. She watched Maester Yaron tend to his wounds, his face worried and puzzled.

Jon did not come to his senses until the morning. He was slow to heal; the wound should have started to scab in a week, but it had taken him double that time. Even after weeks had passed, Jon was slow to get on his feet, and he looked weak and exhausted. Maester Yaron was puzzled at the sudden change from Jon being a vigorous young man to the shell of one. He consulted his fellow maesters from King’s Landing and Winterfell, and was urged by Brienne to even send a raven to the Citadel.

Despite his weakness, Jon was more loving than ever; he clung to her in bed, and asked after her in the day. He spoke softly to their child through her stomach, even though Brienne was not showing as yet. He touched her everywhere, and explored her growing breasts. He kissed her and tried to bring her to pleasure as much as he could, even though he was currently too weak to make love to her.

“I think it’s something else,” Jon suddenly said to her one night, as she wrapped her arms around him. “It’s not the injury. It’s entirely something different.”

She looked at him with concern. His eyes were sad, and his face had a solemnness she hadn’t seen since they came to Tarth.

“We’re consulting other Maesters. They’ll find out what’s wrong and will cure you.” She tightened her arms around him.

“Yes. Of course they will,” Jon replied, staring at her. He closed his eyes and nuzzled into her neck.


	5. Chapter Five: The Quiet Isle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the Quiet Isle, there is an unexpected encounter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Readers, thanks for digging this story and giving the rare pair of JonxBrienne a chance. (Though in truth I'm actually a very devoted JaimexBrienne shipper.)
> 
> Your comments are lovely to read. Thank you! Also: although this fic is mainly show-focused, I have added book stuff in there (like the Quiet Isle in this chapter). It's a mish-mash!

Jon grew paler and paler over their journey, and was even quieter than usual. Thankfully, they found the newly built Sept easily; the large building made of rough lumber rose high from the flat meadows outside Maidenpool. Septon Meribald welcomed them jubilantly, hailing them with both hands, as he stood amongst a gathering of smallfolk and his orphans. Brienne dismounted and greeted the group with an easy smile. She and Jon had made it a point to visit Meribald and his devotees twice a year, to donate to the sept and check in on the children. Most of the orphans were indirect victims of bandits and the near constant years of war which had left them without family or kin. Ever since the attack by the Bloody Mummers at the Inn at the Crossroads where Brienne had almost died protecting orphans, she had felt a responsibility toward abandoned children and those who were wounded and forgotten.

Jon lowered himself gingerly from his horse, and shuffled slowly toward them. Brienne gave him a worried look and reached out to steady his arm, but Jon dismissed her concern with a smile and a squeeze of her hand.

Septon Meribald led them to the sitting room in his chambers once they had eaten a bountiful supper with the community in their large hall.

“I had not expected your visit so soon,” the septon said as they sat down. He handed them cups of wine, which Jon gratefully took. Brienne shook her head, and instead asked for water. The septon gave her an interested look. “Of course, we are always happy to see you and receive your generous gifts, but it has been only three months since your last visit. It makes me wonder if something is amiss.” His eyes carefully took in Jon’s pale face.

“You are ever wise, Septon Meribald.” Jon took a small sip of wine and closed his eyes as the liquid warmed his throat. “We are on our way to Oldtown, to visit the Citadel. Thought to stop here, on the way.”

“This trip has been a long time coming.” He gave Brienne an affectionate look. “And I admit that if it were up to Brienne, it would have happened much sooner.”

“You’re too stubborn,” Brienne groused, scowling slightly.

Septon Meribald gave Jon a long, concerned glance. “Are you ill, Jon?”

“I know not. I grow weak. The Maesters on Tarth and even in King’s Landing don’t seem to have answers, but they aren’t particularly concerned.” Jon’s eyes took on a faraway look. “Nonetheless, I feel myself fading.”

“We figure that if anyone would know, it would be the old Maesters at the Citadel.”

“They might. They might not,” the septon said noncommittally.

They were placed in the guest chamber that was simple and unadorned, but there was a good fire in the hearth and a bed big enough for the both of them.

“You’re cold,” Brienne said, as she slid into bed beside Jon as her legs grazed his. The room was warm, and they were under furs and blankets.

Jon looked up at her with large eyes and smiled a little. “I guess you’ll need to warm me up, wife,” He drew his body close to hers, his face nudging the crook of her neck. She enveloped her body around his, running her hands comfortingly over his bare back. Soon enough, his skin heated and he sighed.

“You are well, Brienne?” He looked up at her and started to plant kisses along her jaw and cheek. “And the little one?” His hands caressed the nearly indiscernible bump of her abdomen.

Brienne was filled with a surge of tenderness, which mingled with the ever present simmer of worry that had been constant since Jon took ill. She lowered her head and kissed him, nibbling at his lips. His mouth opened and he sighed into her as they deepened their kisses.

They had not been intimate since they left Tarth a fortnight ago; he was tired, his blood felt sluggish and he had no energy but to keep himself upright on his horse and sleep. But tonight, his blood was hot, running fiercely for the first time in a long while. And he loved his Brienne, and adored her large body which was at the moment so warm and pink under his hands, her breasts which had swelled and become more sensitive (which he found to his delight), and her core which was warm and wet for him. He wanted to love her tonight as she deserved. He kissed her all over, and her soft little moans spurred him on, and when he put his mouth on her and tasted her, she arched against him and cried out in pleasure as she reached her peak. And when he slid into her soft wet heat, he felt completely alive, his senses heightened as he moved inside her as he felt her legs wrap around him and her hips rising to meet his every thrust. They rose and broke together, and he was entirely lost in Brienne as he collapsed on top of her and felt her heart beat close to his. This, he felt, was _everything_ , and he wanted to stay in this moment with Brienne forever. Afterwards, she wrapped her body tight against his, her arms cradling him. He felt completely warm all over and so desperately happy.

=====

Jon fell off his horse two days later, just as they were about to leave the sept. Septon Meribald and the children had stood around them, waving and shouting their well wishes. He had felt particularly unwell in the morning, and he was surprised he even had the strength to haul himself onto his horse. Brienne had observed him all morning with worried eyes, but he dismissed any of her concerns with soft, crooked smiles. But he was on the horse and the sun felt good on his skin, and when he closed his eyes for a moment, he felt his blood quickly drain away from this body. He felt his torso wavering, listing to one side, and he opened his eyes to see the flash of Brienne moving, and he felt himself falling, falling, and everything went black.

Brienne felt fear run through her as she saw Jon leaning on his horse like a tree in a rough wind. She saw, with increasing alarm, that he was about to fall. Without even thinking, she leapt of her own horse and ran to his side, coming in time to catch him as he fell, his taut body slamming her in the chest as she staggered back with a painful grunt. She slowly lowered him on to the grass. His eyelids were closed, and he was paler than she’d ever seen him. She made herself take deep breaths, despite the panic that was threatening to overcome her.

“Jon. Jon,” she called out to him, her hand touching his forehead and cheeks.

He did not respond. His breaths were steady but frighteningly low and irregular.

The septon was beside her now, his fingers touching Jon’s neck.

“His pulse is very faint,” he said, looking at her with concern.

A young girl brought over a cold washcloth to her, and Brienne held it to Jon’s face and neck. She prayed to the Seven not to take him. She ran her fingers through his thick, loose curls, likely for her own comfort.

Eventually, he opened his eyes, smiling lazily up at her, and Brienne felt her heart unclench in relief.

“Jon.”

“Brienne,” he whispered, staring at her face in awe, smile still on his lips.

He didn’t want to lie down or return to the sept to rest another day, and insisted he was fine to continue on their journey, but Brienne refused to resume their journey until Jon agreed to being secured with ropes on his horse, lest he lose consciousness and fall off again.

“I’m afraid it looks like you might not make it to the Citadel,” Septon Meribald said with a frown, as he provided Jon with sweet honey tea and biscuits.

This was something that had been nagging at Brienne. Going to the Citadel would take weeks, not to mention the difficulty of camping and the rough terrain that awaited them. They had no idea if the Maesters could even be of any help, because so far the ravens that went back and forth from Tarth did not do much; they were more or less going on a faint hope and was under the assumption that the Citadel’s learned men would know what to do with Jon when he was in front of them in person.

“Perhaps you should consider consulting with the healers at the Quiet Isle instead,” the septon said. “They are not Maesters, but they have quite the reputation and knowledge of the healing arts. They may be able to help you as much as the men at the Citadel.”

Brienne looked at Jon and saw how white he still was, how he was increasingly short of breath. She thought that the long journey to Oldtown would surely make him worse. He nodded faintly at her, thinking all the while that he was likely beyond help at this point, but if it pleased his wife to visit a healer, it didn’t matter to him whether they went to the Quiet Isle or the Citadel.

“The Quiet Isle it is,” Jon said, squeezing Brienne’s hand.

=====

On their journey by horse and later on a small ferry to the Quiet Isle, Brienne remembered her only other visit to the religious community some years before. She had been on her quest – which turned out to be futile one, as she neither found Sansa nor Arya in the Riverlands. But Jaime had set her on the journey, giving her the blue armor which she still wore to this day, her sword Oathkeeper which was currently at her hip, and Podrick, who was safe back in Tarth. She remembered how she poured her heart out to the Elder Brother, and he had been the only one that she ever told about Jaime, her painful past, and her current quest. She remembered how comforting it was to finally tell someone. He had been a good listener. She remembered how he advised her to return home; she dismissed his advice at the time, and it took many years, but she finally did go home.

She looked at Jon with increasing concern. She noticed he had tried to be positive for her, but there was a quietness around him lately which truly frightened her. Even though they had not been each other’s first or even second loves, there was a deep affection between them which had only grown over time, like a tree that had been fostered and cared for until it grew large and strong. Their love wasn’t the searing passion that she had with Jaime, with none of the longing and aching she experienced with him, but she loved Jon, nonetheless. Their relationship was a steady thing, a comfort to her soul after the all the rending grief they had both endured. She wanted him with her, wanted him by her side as their babe grew in her belly. She could not imagine raising a child alone. Brienne had no idea what she was doing; neither did he, of course, but she figured they would at least have the chance to figure it out together. The thought of possibly losing Jon was simply unfathomable.

Elder Brother looked the same as when she last saw him a few years back; he still looked strong and tough, with his shaved head, thick nose, sharp eyes and heavy jaw. His expression was one of welcome, however, as he approached them.

“Blessings, Brienne of Tarth,” the gruff man said, a wide smile on his face. “It has been too many years since you visited us, my lady.” His gaze fell on Jon, still atop his horse, and scanned the ropes which held him in place and prevented him from falling.

“Have you brought a patient in need of medical attention?”

“This is Jon Snow of Tarth – my husband. We seek your healing knowledge, Elder Brother.” She threw Jon a concerned glance, as he stared weakly at the both of them, nodding at the robed man.

“Come,” he said, “We’ll put you in one of the cottages. I’m sure you remember them. Come to the Hermit’s Hole once you’ve settled. We should talk.”

The cottages, made of stone and shaped like a beehive, were exactly as she remembered. There were no windows save the smoke holes in the centre of the roof. However, the walls were washed white and a novice brother had built a bright fire in their cottage, giving the room a cozy warmth. A couple of the silent brothers helped Jon from his horse and half carried him to the bed. He fell asleep right away. She sighed, pulling wool blankets and furs over him.

She took off her armor and washed herself with water in a basin. She pulled on a long sweater and wrapped her head and shoulders in a shawl. She recalled how biting the winds could be on the Eastern side of the island and expected as much, even though the day had been a warm one.

She made her way slowly to the Elder brother’s cave, which, if she remembered correctly, was nestled on the side of a hill. The afternoon was waning, and she could feel the chill in the air. She passed by green fields with grazing sheep and leafy trees whose trunks and branches were twisted by the wind.

She remembered being surprised by the warmth of the Elder Brother’s surprisingly large cave when she first visited, and she was pleased to see that not much had changed. The floors were layered with wool rugs, walls were lined with book-filled shelves, and furniture was made out of nearly white driftwood. The light from the fire and the many candles made the whole room glow prettily.

They sat by a fire with a cup of the isle’s own mead. Elder Brother looked at her a long time, then stared at the fire.

“How far along are you, Lady Brienne?” He stood up and poured her a cup of a golden drink from different bottle. “Non-alcoholic mead,” Elder Brother explained, as she took the cup from him.

She stared and gave Elder Brother a long glance. She self-consciously touched her stomach. “Is it already obvious?”

Elder Brother smiled and shook his head. “No, not at all. You’re only starting to show. But I have seen many expecting women in my time. My guess is that you are in your fourth moon?”

Brienne nodded as she felt a flush on her cheeks. “That’s right.”

“Is that why you’re here? Your pregnancy? Or is it your husband?”

She looked down. “It’s Jon. For some moons, he has been growing weaker, become more tired. Ever since he suffered a shoulder injury which he was slow to heal from. We don’t know what’s wrong. We’ve seen many Maesters, but they don’t have any idea of the cause, or how to cure it.”

She took a sip of the sweet golden drink and appreciated its flavour on her tongue. “It’s getting worse. This morning he fell off his horse and fainted for some minutes. That’s why we had to tie him to his saddle. And he just about passed out the moment we put him on the bed just now.”

Elder Brother frowned and looked at her with serious eyes. “I don’t know if I can help, especially since you have consulted many Maesters, but I will examine him tomorrow morning, if it please you.”

Brienne nodded, grateful. She looked around the cave. “Everything seems to be the same as I last visited. Tell me, how have the wars treated you and the isle?”

The man’s face glowed in the firelight as he chuckled softly. “The Targaryen Queen and her dragons and Cersei’s armies passed us by, thank the Seven. And the Others never ventured this far south, thanks to you and your armies up North. We have been lucky. But we have felt the effects of war. You can’t imagine the horrors that washed up on our shores. So many bodies, charred bones, people killed in all sorts of manners. Of course, for many moons, our cottages were filled with the war wounded.”

He looked at her with an amused expression. “We have had more than two and a half years of peace, thank the gods. We make do here, as usual. New brothers come, and other brothers go.” He paused. “I was sorry to hear about Sandor. I heard he went North to fight with you and came back south to fight some more.”

Brienne nodded, remembering the tough, grizzled man with the surprisingly soft spot for the Stark sisters. “He was a good man. But he died the way he wanted to, defeating the monster that was his brother.”

“Yes. When he was here, he was a lost soul. Angry and sullen. A lot like his horse, Stranger.” Elder Brother sent her an astute look. “We have a lot of lost souls who seek peace here. Wounded not just in body but in spirit. I think this place gives them a measure of peace and initially an escape from the real world, though they will have to deal with their own demons eventually.”

She regarded him with calm eyes and nodded in understanding. She knew all about wounded men. She had dealt with them all her life.

=====

Jaime was finishing up his meal of stew accompanied by warm bread and butter when he heard rumblings of visitors. He paid the news no mind and instead relished the meal. One good thing he could say about the brothers was that they ate well, and used the freshest ingredients. The fare was simple but filling and so very good. As usual, the common hall was silent as the only a few of the brothers had their speaking days that day. Nevertheless, there was always a bit of a clamor when they had a visitor, as the Quiet Isle was very quiet. (This was, in all honesty, the thing he found hardest to get used to. The not talking. The silence.) Most visitors that came to the isle were common folk who were hurt and in need of healing. Up to a few months after the burning of King’s Landing, the isle had been full of the sick and dying; yet Jaime had only vague memories of the stench of rotting flesh, the cries of pain and the fevers of infection, because he himself was still ill. The stab wounds, the internal bleeding and broken bones he suffered when the Red Keep fell on him took many moons to heal. He did not like to think upon that time, or the time before, though the memories sometimes pressed on him at random intervals during the day and throughout the night.

In the hall, as he put away his dishes, he heard murmurs of “a woman…” and a “Northern King,” but it was only when he heard the words “the Evenstar” and “Tarth” that he nearly dropped his bowl and turned sharply at the lowered voices in the hall. He could not ask anyone, for it was not his speaking day, but he moved with more urgency than he’d ever had in years, and jogged toward the shore, close enough to see the visitors but far enough away not to be spotted. He thought it must be impossible that it was _her_ , but a part of him also realized how inevitable this was. Perhaps, he thought, he had been waiting for this day all this time.

He saw her immediately…he could recognize her wide, tall form anywhere, the regal way she walked, the light straw of her hair, which had grown past her shoulders now and hung down in a single braid. He could not see her face, but he saw with a pang that she still wore the blue armor that he had given to her all those years ago. He wanted both to run toward her and run away and hide. His heart was thudding hard in his chest and he knew not if it was from fear or excitement. He couldn’t take his eyes off her as she passed below him, and his gaze intently followed the back of her. He admired the proud carriage of her shoulders. There she was. Alive. Here, on the same land as him. He had not thought about it much, the chance of seeing her again. He had idiotically assumed that he would never see her again, but of course the Stormlands were next to the Riverlands, and Tarth was not that far away. He supposed that a part of him _wanted_ to see her, or at least wanted the _risk_ of seeing her. Had he never wanted to see her again, he should have gone to Essos or beyond. Yet he did not go there. Which should have told him _something_.

There was another with her, a younger man, leaning unsteadily on his mount. Jaime recognized his black curly head right away: Jon Snow. He supposed that the wench did indeed marry the bastard, as the tales confirmed. The brothers on the isle were often the last to know of news from the mainland, as they mostly relied on stories retold by visitors. Yet those tales were notoriously unreliable, told second or third hand. He had heard of Brienne’s marriage often enough to be convinced it was true, however. He did not much remember how he felt more than a year ago when he heard of it; mayhaps his heart broke a little, mayhaps he took a bottle or two of the isle’s strongest ale to his bed. One thing was certain: it was something he had not wanted to dwell on.

He wondered why they were here. Was she well? She looked strong and healthy, but he knew that sometimes even a strong constitution could hide sickness within. A part of him wanted to go to her, follow her to her cottage and reveal himself, but another part of him counselled his heart for calm and perhaps let go. After all, hadn’t he made his decision when he decided to stay on the Quiet Isle and live as a brother, even though he wasn’t officially ordained? When he decided to remain officially dead and not contact Brienne or even his brother? Therefore, shouldn’t he try to live with this permanent decision? In some ways, his life here was a joke, because he was the _least_ religious person he knew. Yet this new life of his gave him a measure of peace to live out what was left of his days.

He usually spent his evenings reading in front of a fire, or writing in his notebooks, but tonight he walked slowly toward the women’s cottages and watched the round stone huts on the east side of the island. One cottage in particular had smoke coming from its top. That was where she was. With her husband, Jon, sharing the same roof, as a married couple should. A few minutes later, the door opened and she strode out, her armor off, wrapped in layers of wool. She looked fierce and quietly happy. Her strides were wide and confident. It was evident that she had been here before, as he watched her walk assuredly in the direction of the Elder Brother’s cave. He wanted to follow her, perhaps run to her and grab her hand, but he continued standing there, watching her walk further and further away from him.

=====

Brienne took to exploring the isle while Elder Brother examined Jon. They both slept well, and Brienne supposed it was because they were here where they could finally get some answers. Jon was in good spirits this morning, she recalled with a smile, eating heartily of the bread and cheese which were made right in the septry. He told her to come fetch him in the afternoon so they could go walking around the island together.

She liked the Quiet Isle, since it reminded her of her own island home. There were lessons here for her and the people of Tarth, as the brothers were entirely self-sufficient. They were also prosperous because of their mead, ale, and cider, which were sold throughout Westeros and Essos, renowned for their quality. Elder Brother said that she had free reign to explore the island and the septry, as all of the brothers knew of her arrival and were aware of her position as Evenstar.

She remembered feeling awkward and ever so young the first time she came here; she was afraid and desperate to find any clue about Sansa Stark. She remembered how the fact that only a few of the brothers spoke seemed strange to her, as were the long brown robes that they wore. Many brothers even wound a scarf around their faces so only their eyes were visible. But returning here, to find that everything was the same, Brienne felt a sense of comfort. There had been too much change in the past few years.

When she arrived at the garden, a familiar figure approached her.

“Lady Brienne. How good it is to see you again. You may not recall, but I am Brother Narbert. We met many years ago now,” the kindly faced man with wispy grey hair said and nodded at her.

“Brother Narbert. I remember you well and I’m happy to see a familiar face. The years have treated you well, I see.” She grinned at him. “I suppose I’m lucky enough to encounter you on your speaking day yet again?”

The man twittered, smiling gently. “Indeed, providence has placed me in your path once more. Praise the Seven! Consequently, I feel I would be remiss if I weren’t your guide today. Would you permit me to accompany you and show you the septry and all that we do here?”

She nodded, pleased to have company. He gestured to the garden around them, which had a handful of brown clad brothers working the soil, watering the little plants, weeding.

“This is our vegetable garden, which you may be surprised to learn, feeds us throughout the year.”

He showed her the stables, the milk cows, and led her to a large room filled with metal vats and wooden barrels.

“Most of our profits come from selling and trading our ales, cider, and our special mead throughout the Westeros and Essos. We have quite a reputation for the drinks, especially for our mead. We also have our own vineyard and winery, but we only make enough wine here for our brothers and visitors, as land for our grapes is quite limited.”

He looked at her with a delighted expression. “Come,” he said, with an enthusiasm that was similar to a child’s. “I’ll show you the secret of our mead.”

He led her through to a small courtyard, and Brienne saw rows upon rows of white wooden boxes, and heard a pleasant, low buzzing sound in the ear. Two white-robed brothers with large brimmed hats with protective veils were working at the other side of the courtyard.

“Our bees are very special. The climate here and their protected location in the courtyard means that our bees produce honey year-round. We have special flowers that grow throughout the isle that produces their distinctive flavour.”

They approached one of the beekeepers and Brienne looked the boxes, fascinated by the light smoke and drowsy buzzing of the honeybees, all of them moving sluggishly as if they were drunk.

“Brother James, will you allow our guest to sample some of our honey?” Brother Narbert said to the tall, white-robed figure. The man nodded, the hat and bee veil covering his entire head, and walked slowly so Brienne could follow him. He led her to a small room off the apiary, lined with open shelves that held jars upon jars of honey which ranged from light gold to a deep amber. The light from the large windows filled the room with a golden glow.

“It’s beautiful in here,” Brienne said, her voice full of admiration.

The brother nodded, and stood in front of a counter where he carefully lifted up the cover of a jar with his still gloved hands and scooped out a spoonful of honey for her, his head bowed down. She accepted the little spoon eagerly and placed it in her mouth. The sweetness spread thickly on her tongue and she had to close her eyes because she had a vision of flowers and sunshine and tasted the floral notes and the deep richness of the honey. She couldn’t help the pleased smile that fell upon her lips as she opened her eyes.

Brother James had his head up now, and was staring at her, and for the first time she looked at his face, still obscured by his veil. But all she saw were green eyes, the very same green eyes that had been so familiar to her, that had been so close to her. She froze in shock. She took in his face and the look of concern and awe that she saw there, and she was utterly speechless and her mind was stuck and whirling at the same time, and she could feel the blood drain from her face and she realized with some shock that her whole body was trembling.

“You look like – you look like…” she managed to stammer before her whole world went black.


	6. Chapter Six: The Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne is confronted with the return of Jaime.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm happy how much you readers have liked Jon and Brienne's growing relationship. But of course, Jaime returns and complicates matters. 
> 
> Thanks for the comments and the continued support!

She felt a wet cloth being pressed against her face and winced a little at the cold, instinctively moving away from it. All was a fog in her mind. Slowly, she realized she was lying down, and felt the wooden floor hard against her back, a cushion under her head.

“Lady Brienne,” said the concerned voice of Brother Narbert. She opened her eyes and saw his frowning face. Brienne was confused and could not remember how she ended up on the floor. Looking around and seeing the jars of honey, she remembered now - tasting the honey - seeing a pair of green eyes _\- familiar_ green eyes. She felt foolish; she was acting like she saw a ghost. Brother Narbert was sitting beside her, but she realized that another person was on the other side of her and she felt the heat of his intense stare. _Brother James_ , she remembered; having a strange woman faint in front of him must have been disconcerting indeed. She turned to him to apologize, and heard a gasp emerge from her throat. It was all she could do to keep herself from falling under again.

 _Jaime._ No longer wearing the hat and veil, she could see his entire face, as familiar to her as her own, the face that had haunted her for years, the face that appeared in her dreams almost every night. She had looked at that face, kissed that face, held it in both of her hands and begged him to stay. His emerald green eyes, the strong nose, the sharp jawline. A face that was now furrowed with worry, those green eyes anxiously and fearfully looking down at her. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but seemed to stop himself.

She was aware that she was gaping in complete and utter shock. Mayhaps she _was_ seeing a ghost, or was she stuck in some strange nightmare? _This cannot be real_. She sat up and shuffled backwards, away from Jaime and Brother Narbert, not taking her eyes from _his_ face. A face which looked older, cheekbones a little hollow, his hair a little less golden and more grey. Yet he was no less beautiful. Her heart was pounding, her mouth went dry. This could not be Jaime. Jaime was _dead, dead, dead_. She needed to escape. She stood up, and Brother Narbert started to plead that she not move and continue to rest. She shook her head, making a strange sound in her throat, wanting out of this dream she found herself in. She slowly backed out of the room, then quickly turned to leave the septry. Once outside, she began to run, her mind still numb and in shock, disbelieving of who she had seen. She had seen a dead man, and she was terrified. She ran faster and faster now, until she was sprinting along the green hills, past the milk cows and sheep, and along the rocky cliffs of the eastern part of the isle.

She ran until her lungs were burning and she was so short of breath that she collapsed in a sweaty heap of exhaustion on the grass, within sight of the women’s cottages, and she was gasping, and all at once her gasps suddenly turned into sobs. She felt all the grief that she had held on to for more than two and a half years, all the sadness of being abandoned and left alone, all the pain she had felt at learning of his death. Knowing that he had died somewhere in the Red Keep to be with his lover, and realizing that he was gone from her life forever. That he had purposely ridden away from her that ill-fated night. She felt the tears flow hot down her face and drip onto the ground beneath her. Her whole body shook.

All of a sudden she felt someone beside her, and strong arms were around her, rocking her back and forth. And familiar weight pressed against her, and she realized with relief that it was Jon. He was trying to calm her, cooing soothing words in her ear; she clung to him now, resting her head against his shoulders, so grateful that he was here. Jon kissed the top of her head and moved to forehead and cheeks, covering them with more kisses and he rubbed a hand up and down her back. Eventually her tears died up and she stopped trembling. She could breathe. Slowly, they stood up together, both leaning on each other, and went into their cottage. She was still stunned. She splashed water on her face and shakily sat down on the bed.

Jon offered her a cup of water and settled beside her. They sat in silence as she slowed her breathing and calm returned to her. Jon held her hand and brought it to his lips. He did not speak.

She looked at him and she was pleased to note that he looked so much stronger than the day before.

“How are you feeling, Jon?” Brienne said, trying to be normal, reaching out to rub his shoulders.

Jon gave her a long, loving glance and smiled. “Much better today. I think traveling took a lot out of me. But as you can see, I’m well enough to walk around on my own without fainting like a distressed damsel.”

“I’m glad. What did Elder Brother say to you?” Brienne combed her fingers through his thick curls. He leaned into her like a cat.

“He examined me quite thoroughly. Asked a lot of questions. He didn’t say much of anything but said that he’d be sending a raven to an Archmaester at the Citadel for his opinion. I guess we wait. He said I should rest, eat, get some exercise, and sleep well in the meantime.”

Brienne nodded. She had guessed that they wouldn’t be getting answers right away; still, she was pleased that the Citadel was being consulted, as it didn’t seem likely that they would make it there in person as they had originally intended.

Jon gave her a curious look, his eyes dark and warm. “Will you tell me what upset you, Brienne? I haven’t seen you in such grief since….”

She looked into his eyes, and he must have read fear in them, because he took her hands again in his and kissed them. She forced herself to breathe and keep her rising panic at bay. She stared at him in the eye and spoke.

“I saw…I saw… _Jaime_.” Her voice shook. “He’s alive.”

=====

Brienne wasn’t entirely sure if this was the best idea. She felt tired, she felt like her body was dragging her down. She managed to get a few hours of sleep last night, but only because Jon had held her gently and gave her little kisses, giving her reassurances and soft words. She was thankful for him, and was so glad that they had found their way into each other’s lives. Jon had never let her down. He had never abandoned her, and she knew he never would.

Jon had been shocked and puzzled at the news about Jaime, in a quiet somber way that was difficult to interpret. But even _he_ had thought she needed to talk to Jaime, and when Elder Brother came to their cottage telling her he’d arranged a meeting between her and ‘Brother James,’ she could not easily decline.

Jon, for his part, had been more surprised than he let on to the news of Jaime’s reappearance. He had questions, plenty of them, but the major one was why Jaime had never returned to Brienne if he had indeed loved her. He had seen enough of their interactions at Winterfell to know that Jaime had loved her, and it seemed absurd to Jon that anyone would _not_ love Brienne; she was so wonderful, so immanently _loveable_. He knew that Brienne had loved Jaime greatly, even more, Jon suspected, than she loved Jon. Had he been in Jaime’s position, it wouldn’t have even been a choice - he would have gone back as soon as he was well enough to travel. Yet Jaime decided to live out an essentially solitary existence on a remote isle amongst a community of religious brothers. It was unfathomable. Yesterday, Jon had been shaken at the sight of his wife crumpled outside on the ground, sobbing like he’d never seen her do before. It was all he could do but run out and take her into his arms. He ached for her, seeing the tears drop from the huge pools of her bluest eyes.

He supposed he should feel jealous that Brienne’s first lover was back into their lives, and he was, a little. But there was a strange darkness in his mind now, and an ill feeling in his body that was not improved by the examination by Elder Brother earlier that day. Jon could easily read looks, and the older man’s countenance was far from hopeful. The fact that he requested the counsel of Archmaester Marwyn was not a good sign. He supposed the thought of bad news tempered the outrage and shock he might have felt upon learning about Jaime’s presence. Before Brienne left for the meeting, he saw that she was nervous and afraid. She looked pale and drawn, as if she was going to her death. He kissed her on the cheeks and reassured her and made her smile a little before she headed out the door.

=====

Brienne was on the edge of many things: anger, madness, despair. The wind was sharp that day, cold and biting, and storm clouds were slowly rolling in. Even the sea looked furious, white waves crashing against the rocky shore; the trees bent and bowed, as if accustomed to the ravages of the wind. The path to the Hermit’s Hole of the Elder Brother was isolated and quiet; Brienne saw no one except for the sheep that were slowly making their way back to the protected grounds of the septry. When she reached the door, she paused and needed to suppress an urgent need to run back to the safety of the cottage and into Jon’s arms. Then she remembered that she was the Evenstar, a knight, and was once a commander in the Long Night. She told herself not to be ridiculous. She steeled herself and went inside, urging her nerves to quieten.

She felt the warmth of the room before anything else – a bright fire was crackling in the hearth, and candles were lit everywhere, giving the whole room a warm glow. She was struck again by the coziness of the room, a contrast to the wildness of the isle and the stark austerity of the septry and cottages.

Jaime – _for it was really him_ – stood up quickly as she made her way into the room.

“Brienne,” he said, his expression anxious, though he was obviously pleased to see her. She was struck dumb for a moment at the sound of his voice, a voice she’d never thought she’d hear again. She took a moment to look at him now, dressed in the rough brown robe of the brothers. His hair had grown, now long enough to graze his shoulders, and he seemed healthy – not wasted or thin, and his face glowed in the firelight. He was still the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. He was unlike the bearded, grizzled man that looked so haunted and troubled in the courtyard at Winterfell. She forced herself to turn away from those memories now, and focus on this man, seemingly resurrected from the dead.

“Please, sit,” Jaime said, gesturing gingerly to the chair opposite him, his tone soft, as if he were talking to a spooked horse.

She felt his eyes never leaving her as she eased herself into the armchair. On the table before them were cups of mead, some fruits, cheese and bread. He sat down opposite her.

“Brienne, are you well?” Jaime looked at her up and down. “I’m sorry about yesterday. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Brienne nodded, the lump in her throat preventing her from speaking immediately.

There was a silence during which they simply stared at each other.

“You’re alive.” It was a stupid thing to say. She could not stop looking at him, trying to pinpoint any changes, trying to find the link from the old Jaime who hurt her and the one that was sitting before her now. At certain moments she almost believed that he would transform into someone else. Or perhaps it seemed to her that she was dreaming.

He nodded, his eyes serious. “I don’t know how much you want to know about what happened, but I was with Cersei, trying to comfort her. She was so afraid -” Jaime broke off, seeing the change in her face.

“Go on,” Brienne forced herself to say. It was important, she thought, to confront what happened, to confront his choice to leave her for the love of his sister.

“Tyrion had arranged a boat to be left at the end of one of the secret tunnels from the dungeons of the keep. I led us there, only to find that the way out had collapsed. We were trapped, and the ceiling was caving in, and Cersei was crying, and we just waited to die.”

He took a sip of mead.

“The next thing I knew, I couldn’t breathe, and my whole body was in pain. I managed to kick and wriggle myself out – the rubble that had buried us was, I realized, not that deep. But my right hand was stuck, and so I removed it. I saw that Cersei – her head was crushed….”

He broke off, his voice thick with sorrow.

“I know what happened to your sister,” Brienne said gently. “I’m very sorry for your loss, Jaime.”

He stared at her, his eyes sharp. “You’re always too good, Brienne. I don’t expect sympathy from you. You shouldn’t-”

“You don’t expect it, and yet you have it.” Brienne’s gaze was cool and kind. “I know you loved her, that you loved her your entire life. I’m sorry you lost her.”

“Brienne-” He cut himself off. Jaime rubbed his left hand on his brow in frustration. “Gods, this conversation is not going the way I thought it was going to go.”

Brienne placed her hand on his right hand – a wooden one instead of the golden one she was used to. He started as if he felt her touch. She removed her hand quickly.

“Just continue with your story, Jaime.”

He nodded. “I pulled myself out. The whole cavern was filled with dust, but the impact of the ceiling falling had dislodged some of the rocks that had been blocking the exit, and I managed to move other rocks to make a larger hole. After that, I just followed the light. I was still convinced I was going to die. My head was bleeding, and so was my stomach from that idiot Euron stabbing me. Everything hurt.”

He looked at her. “But I didn’t _want_ to die at that moment. Even though my whole body was in so much pain, even though it was telling me to surrender and give up, still I walked on. I walked and walked until I was outside, and I realized it was futile for me to try to escape in that boat since I had only one hand to row. So I continued to walk and lost myself in the crowd and finally collapsed somewhere. I was taken with the wounded, and eventually I ended up here at the Quiet Isle to heal. It took months for me to get back to normal, and afterwards, I thought to stay.”

“Why didn’t you let us know? We all thought you were dead. Tyrion thought you were dead. _I_ thought you were dead.” She could feel the edges of her composure start to slip.

Jaime winced. “I’m sorry, Brienne.” He looked ashamed.

Her strange numbness was replaced with an anger that made her blood boil. “I mourned for you. I cried myself sick over you. You don’t seem to understand. I thought you were _dead_ , Jaime!”

She stood up quickly. “And you chose instead to stay here, not telling anyone you survived, that you were alive, for over two and a half years. Choosing to allow anyone who ever cared about you think you died.” She felt herself start to shake.

She moved to go, but Jaime grabbed her by the elbow. She stared at his hand on her, and he slowly pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her and drawing her into an embrace.

“I’m sorry, Brienne,” Jaime murmured over and over into her hair, and she was still angry, but the anger somehow transformed and she felt fat hot tears run down her cheeks and drop onto his shoulder. To her horror, she was crying.

“I’m sorry,” he said, running his left hand up and down her back as his wooden right hand anchored her tight against him.

She allowed herself to briefly relax into his embrace, remembering for a few moments the comfort and closeness that they had once shared. She didn’t allow herself to think of the _want_ his touch always ignited within her, and soon enough, before that could happen, she pulled herself away.

She was surprised to see that his eyes were red and wet when she finally got the nerve to look into his face.

“I wanted to stay dead,” Jaime said, his mouth in a crooked, bitter smile. “I didn’t deserve to come back into your lives, considering all the terrible things I’d done. I thought things would be easier for everybody if I stayed dead.”

“You’re wrong.” Brienne said, giving him a hard gaze. “You’re a craven.”

Jaime hung his head and nodded.

“You’re hiding here, Jaime. We’ve all had to live with the consequences of what we’ve done. Do you know how many dead bodies I’ve helped remove from King’s Landing? How many people have mourned their family members? Worst of all we had to face the fact that our side killed innocents.” She stared at him. “Meanwhile, you’ve been here all the while. Bound to a new set of vows, as Brother James.”

“I never took vows,” Jaime murmured. “They just let me stay and live here and help, since Elder Brother recognized I’m the most profane and least religious man to ever set foot on the isle. ‘Brother James’ is a weak disguise that only half-hid who I really was.”

He absentmindedly twisted the droopy sleeve of his robe. “I kept track of how you and Tyrion were, you know. I was happy to hear that you made a life for yourself.” His eyes were shining, his lips curved into a soft smile. He took her hand gently, and guided both of them down to the bench. She felt the heat of his skin, the way his thumb lightly rubbed the back of her hand.

Brienne nodded. “Yes. I was in a bad way after…and Jon was no better. Eventually we found comfort in each other. And love,” she added.

Jaime smiled a little painfully. “I’m glad. You deserve someone honorable, and Jon is certainly that.” He looked down. “He’s a good man,” he said, with a touch of bitterness.

“That he is. A good man.” Brienne agreed. She stared at the fire.

Jaime hesitated, and looked at her again. “I wanted to also say that I’m sorry that I left you like that in Winterfell. It was cruel. But that moon we had together was the happiest of my life, Brienne, I want you to know that.”

She had to bite her lip hard to prevent a sob from coming out. She shook her head and managed to say, “Just – don’t – I mean, it’s best not to think of that time. It’s far away in the past now. I didn’t understand at the time, but I did know how much you loved your sister. How you always loved her. There was no choice for you, you had to go back to her.”

“Brienne, I-” Jaime protested, his hand tightening around hers.

She stood up. “It doesn’t matter now, Jaime. It’s over.” She saw his face deflate a little. “I must go. I must check on Jon. And a storm is coming, it looks like.”

He nodded, biting his lip. “I’ll come with you, if you’ll allow me. I’d like to make sure you have enough firewood and food. Storms can last for days here.”

“As you wish,” she said, trying to keep her expression neutral.

They walked back in silence, the powerful wind stealing any words they might have wanted to say. It nearly toppled her, tousling her hair free from its braid and unfurling her wool scarf from around her neck.

=====

As he walked beside Brienne back to her cottage, he could not help but admire the way the wind unfurled her hair, lifting the light strands into the air and whipping them all around her head so that she looked like some mysterious fairy creature, wild and almost dangerous. He couldn’t help but stare at her like a starved man; it felt like a century had passed since he had laid eyes on her tall, strong form, those broad shoulders, her long arms and legs, and her crooked, uneven face, and most of all, the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen. 

She was different from before, he thought. Time had made her leaner, and her face had grown even more serious; there were hollows in her cheeks, though her eyes were as bright and intelligent as ever. She moved deliberately, nearly gracefully, with an ease and confidence that wasn’t there in the years he had known her. Before, she was awkward and lumbering, except when she had steel in her hand. As expected, he felt a new distance between them, a suspicion and weariness in her that had never been there before. _Before he broke her trust and her heart at Winterfell, you idiot_ , he thought to himself.

He followed her into the cottage, and was confronted by the familiar seated figure of Jon Snow, whom he had thought he would never see again. The dark haired man was as handsome as ever, serious and brooding, and his dark grey eyes lifted to Jaime’s face as he entered the cottage. He gave Jaime a faint nod and smile, which widened as he turned to Brienne. She sat down beside him on the bed. 

“I had not believed that you were actually alive, Jaime.” Jon looked him up and down. “Have you been here all the while?” He gestured for Jaime to sit. 

“I have been here. At first as a patient, then as a member of sorts.” Jaime could not help but notice Brienne’s look of affection directed at Jon. It unexpectedly needled him. “I had not expected to see you alive either, Jon Snow. Exile suits you.” Jaime plunked himself down on the chair near the fire, stretching out his legs in an expression of practiced ease.

“Tarth suits me. Brienne suits me.” Jon looked over at Brienne with sickening adoration and reached over to squeeze her hand. Brienne smiled, and stole a quick glance at Jaime, blushing slightly. Jaime tried to keep his face pleasant. If not pleasant, then neutral.

Intellectually, Jaime understood that Brienne was married to Jon, that they more or less belonged to each other, but he could not stop the sudden flood of unease and discomfort that struck at the sight of the two of them together. There was a burning in his chest when he thought of them together, for when Jaime looked at Brienne, even now, he could not help still feel the pull of her, the complete conviction that she was _his_ , and would always be his. 

“Funny, when I killed my King all those years ago, I never got such a prize. I was never so happy,” Jaime said, a little too sharply. 

Brienne stared at him, her eyes glinting and hard. 

Jon let out a laugh that sounded hollow to Jaime’s ears. “I think we have much in common. Kingslayer and Queenslayer. And I suppose we have incest in common, though I didn’t know Daenerys was my aunt at first. I also wasn’t sleeping with my sister for decades and tried to die with her.”

Jaime got up abruptly and took an angry step toward Jon. Jon, for his part, looked defiant and smug. Jaime had a wild impulse to punch that sullen, handsome face of his, as a fresh wave of anger came over him. Brienne quickly stood up between them, and gave Jaime a hard stare, and then he was overwhelmed by the blueness of her eyes and stepped back, coming back to his senses a little.

There was a tense moment where the three of them stared at each other.

“There’s a storm coming,” Jaime said finally, moving a few more steps back. “I will get you more firewood.” He nodded at Jon, smiled at Brienne, and walked out the door.

As he headed toward the nearby woodshed that held firewood, he heard steps behind him, despite the increasing howls of the wind. It had started to rain lightly. 

“What was that about?” Brienne demanded, nearly shouting, her face in a familiar scowl. How he missed that sour, angry expression.

“Your husband forgot his manners in his exile, it seems.” Jaime piled a stack of wood and balanced it on his right arm.

“Don’t pull that on me. You started it. You were uncivil and peevish from the beginning.” Brienne’s anger was familiar and strangely reassuring. She too, started piling wood into her arms. 

Jaime shrugged and started walking back.

“Jaime!”

He turned toward her and sighed. “Look, Brienne. I shouldn’t have said what I said, ok? I lost my temper.” He could not tell her that he felt jealous of Jon, that he wanted to be the one in her bed, not that upstart bastard Queenslayer.

Brienne nodded, temporarily placated by his words, and walked back to the cottage. She gave him a strange look, but did not admonish him anymore. Her countenance settled into her - now familiar - calm expression.

Soon enough, they had piled enough wood in the cottage. After making sure they had enough food and drink, Jaime made his way to go.

“Thank you, Jaime.” Jon looked at him with a mild gaze, the annoyance completely gone from his expression. Ah, an olive branch. Jon showing both of them that he was the bigger man. Jaime stopped himself just in time from scowling.

Instead Jaime nodded and gave the man a small half-smile. “Good night, Jon.” He looked over at Brienne, who in the meantime had unwrapped the wool layers from her body. He took a moment to stare at her lean torso, only lightly covered by a tunic. He thought she had a more womanly shape now, and resisted staring at the soft swell of her breasts. That was inappropriate.

“Good night, Brienne.”

She looked at him and gave him a small, quiet smile that immediately brought him back to Winterfell. He allowed those memories to come now, as he started walking back to the septry. It had felt good to briefly hold her in his arms in Elder Brother’s quarters that afternoon. He felt the heat of her body, breathed in her familiar smell, and felt her so solid form in his arms. He did not want to let go. He walked back slowly, paying no mind to the wind that blew his brown robes about, or to the rain that was coming down harder. Instead he thought back to those evenings with Brienne, how her skin felt, how she tasted, how she moaned and writhed under him as he plunged into her. He had avoided those memories for years, but they all came back now, strong and as immediate as if it all had happened yesterday. He couldn’t help but smile at himself. He didn’t understand how he could have thought he could stay away without seeing her again. How deluded he was to have thought that she had been firmly put away in his past. She wasn’t his past, she was his future, and forever will be.


	7. Chapter Seven: The Archmaester

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Archmaester Marwyn consults with Jon and Brienne.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Programming note: this week is busy for me, so I will try to keep to the daily posting, but this may not be fully possible. 
> 
> It's a tricky time out there. Stay safe, stay home if you can.

Archmaester Marwyn arrived without much fanfare, accompanied by a couple of his devoted acolytes; he was not as Brienne expected, dressed in a strange combination of clashing velvets and rough spun linen, his body powerful and squat, his enormous round chest and belly jutting out in front of him. He looked more like a debauched merchant than a learned gentleman from the Citadel. She had heard about him, of course, how he traveled to the edges of the known world, picking up esoteric knowledge from wood witches, warlocks, shadow binders, and devotees of the Lord of Light. She also knew that until the most recent years, he had been on the edges of propriety for his devotion to magic at the citadel.

If she wondered why Elder Brother chose him to consult instead of other Archmaesters specifically dedicated to healing, she did not voice her thoughts. The night he arrived, the brothers celebrated in their great hall with a more elaborate than usual fare, consisting of roast meats, the finest cheeses, and rare wines that had been saved for special occasions such as this. Of course, the gathering lacked the boisterousness of most Westerosi celebrations, as most of the brothers maintained their silence. Brienne and Jon sat with the guest of honour, along with Elder Brother and the brothers who were able to speak on that day.

The Archmaester had looked at them a long time, the expression on his face a strange one. But save for the thoughtful stares their way, he regaled their table with amusing stories of his voyages, of wonderful tribes and people he met along his travels. He spoke of creatures that walked on land as well as in the sea; dangerous predators who pounced on you when you slept; laughing, spotted dogs that feasted on the dead. Brienne was mostly silent but enjoyed herself, while Jon drank more wine than usual and became relaxed, his tongue loose with stories. He countered the Archmaester’s stories with his own tales of the North beyond the wall, of the Night King, of dragons, of men who could see with the eyes of animals, of dead white bears with blue eyes come back to life. How his brother, King Bran, met the children of the forest. Jon had rarely talked about his time in the Night’s Watch, and Brienne marveled at seeing this more gregarious side of him. She wondered then, who he might have been had he had a mother’s love in childhood, had he not been a bastard, had not had the enormous responsibilities put on his shoulders at such a young age. He probably would never have considered her for a wife, she realized; just as Jaime would never have looked at her had they not been captor and captive all those many years ago.

As for Jaime, she only caught glimpses of him since that night of the storm when they had spoken; it had nearly been a fortnight, and she saw him sometimes, working on the farm, tending to the bees, or some such physical labour. One time, she crossed his path as he was digging a grave, his body clad in simple tunics and breeches instead of the long brown robe of the brothers. Sweat poured from his body and dampened his shirt. She stared too long at how the material clung to the muscles of his chest. She could see now how well he looked, how strong and healthy, improved from the desperate times at Winterfell. She felt her whole body flush and she felt a throbbing in her chest just as she caught his eye. He had suddenly stopped his movement and merely stood there as she stared at him; she hoped he did not see any hint of want in her eyes, for she had felt it run through her like lightning. In the end though, he nodded and smirked that familiar smirk of his. It was an all too familiar expression that told her that he _knew_ , that he read her expression fully. How he still affected her. Gods, he was arrogant. Still as preening as a peacock, basking in vanity and admiration. She scowled and walked on, and she heard his laughter following her as she walked quickly away.

He often stared at her when they were in the great hall, eating their supper, just like he was now. He looked at his food, then back at her, his expression preoccupied. There was no smirk on his face. She knew he was listening to their conversation, and she wondered if he thought about the North and how they saw the dead rise up again and again. As always, Jaime did not linger after he finished his food, but quietly got up to put his dishes away.

In truth, there was little time to think about Jaime beyond those brief, unsettling moments. She was glad they were at the Quiet Isle instead of still on the road to Oldtown. The place did Jon good, she thought, as she observed him laughing at a tall tale told by the Archmaester. He had gained more strength, and slept less during the day, and was able to take walks with her around the little isle. She showed him the septry and all the projects that the brothers were involved in. They talked about Tarth and its future and how perhaps they too, could become sustainable and profitable if they explored new industries. Jon asked her sometimes, why Jaime stayed away, but she had no true answer. She flippantly replied that it was likely difficult to catch up with someone when he is only allowed to speak just once a week.

After the celebratory supper, the Archmaester retired, informing them that he would see them in the morning. He smiled and clasped Jon’s hands, then Brienne’s. Jon was a little drunk, his body not used to wine, as he had not drunk much since he became ill. Yet his spirits were ebullient, and his smiles for her were easy and full of affection. Seeing him like this made her feel warm inside, and grateful that he’d had a good night. He was unsteady, so he leaned into her as they made their way back to the cottage. She couldn’t help but giggle when he stumbled. Eventually they found their way back to the cottage, and Brienne immediately deposited Jon on the bed and she began to help him undress.

“I can undress myself, dearest wife,” Jon murmured leaning into her, his eyes drooping.

“Clearly,” she said, suppressing a smile as she helped him out of this shirt and breeches, leaving him in his smallclothes.

“I wonder…I wonder, Brienne.” His voice was slow and relaxed. “Why Archmaester Marwyn was called here instead of another. He seems especially fond of magic.”

Brienne frowned, but made noises of reassurance. “I guess we’ll find out tomorrow. Perhaps he has seen cases like yours during his travels.”

Jon frowned. “Perhaps.”

He gave her a curious glance. “Jaime often looks at you.”

She scoffed.

“He does. Every time you’re in the same room together, he just stares at you. Like a man who is dying of thirst.”

“I’m a familiar face.” Brienne pursed her lips. She started to undress for bed.

“It doesn’t bother me, you know,” Jon said, smiling faintly.

She looked at him and her heart ached. For Jon, who was laying there so open and handsome. For Jaime, who had returned from the dead.

“Jon,” she said, as she slid into the bed next to Jon. His cheeks were faintly pink from the wine and warmth of the room. She traced the lines of his face and down to his neck and across his lean, defined chest.

Jon let out a contented sigh as he rested his head on her shoulder. His hand ran up and down her body, and rested on her belly which was starting to swell.

“It’s not every day that the love of your life comes back into your life,” he said quietly. His hand moved from her abdomen and went even lower. Her breath hitched in her throat.

“You have nothing to worry about, Jon.” His fingers combed the thick curls of her mound as his fingers began to gently touch her slippery folds.

“I love you, Brienne,” Jon murmured as his fingers explored her folds and dipped into her wetness. Brienne moaned, melting into his touch. She was about to reply when he pressed and stroked her _there_ and bolts of pleasure shot through her, rendering her incapable of speech. All she could manage were a series of loud, guttural moans. She faintly heard Jon chuckle in her ear.

=====

Archmaester Marwyn had lain out his tools on a table, and there were several things Jon had never seen before, even though he worked closely with Maester Aemon at Castle Black, not to mention Sam, and thought himself familiar with medical tools. The objects were curious, made of bone and glass and metal formed into hooks and horns and spirals. Elder Brother had provided the large examination room for their appointment, and Jon sat himself the examination table. Brienne sat quietly in the corner, her eyes nervously flitting from Jon, to the strange tools, to the gruff man that stood in front of Jon, staring at him with dark, penetrating eyes. He smiled, revealing red teeth stained by chewing sourleaf.

“Tell me about these.” He prodded the half a dozen black wounds on Jon’s chest.

“Stab wounds,” Jon said simply. “They have never scarred over…it’s been almost five years now.”

Marwyn picked up a tool that looked like a horn and laid it against his heart and held his ear against it. He appeared to listen intently. “This one here,” he said, pointing to the stab wound in his chest, “Should have immediately killed you.”

The man looked at him, his eyebrows raised knowingly. “They say you were brought back from the dead by a Red Priestess.”

Of course he knew. Everyone seemed to know. “Aye. A Red Priestess named Melisandre. She said it was the first time her lord had blessed her in this way, and she had not expected it to work. But it did.”

Jon looked at Brienne, who was in turn looking at him with concern. He continued, “There was another red priest called Thoros of Myr. He apparently brought back Beric Dondarrion many times from death.”

Marwyn nodded. “I know of Thoros. He never struck me as the devout type, so it was a surprise that he possessed this power.”

“And tell me Lord Snow, you have no other symptoms besides fatigue, sleepiness, a lack of energy, sluggishness, and the occasional fainting spell?”

Jon shook his head. “Nothing else. A lack of appetite maybe. No pain.” He stopped and hesitated. “But I’ve increasingly been feeling a sense of dread, Archmaester. A sense that I may not last long.”

He heard Brienne give a soft gasp, and he gave her an apologetic look. She was frowning.

Marwyn told him that he could put his clothes back on while he washed his hands and sat down behind a large desk. On the desk were old, leather-bound tomes that were open to various pages. He gestured for both Brienne and Jon to sit on the chairs in front of him. His thick, strong fingers flipped through some ancient text, then he looked at them.

“I have known of your case for a while now, since your Maester Yaron started contacting the Citadel about you moons ago. When Elder Brother sent word, I knew I had to come to examine you in person.”

“Do you know what’s wrong with Jon?” Brienne asked, her eyes large and guileless. Jon wanted to hold her right then, and protect her from what she was going to hear.

Marwyn nodded. “I believe so.” He shifted in his seat, looking at them hesitantly as if he was about to give them bad tidings. “As you know, magic was a part of our lives hundreds upon hundreds of years ago. Dragons, The Others, shadow beasts…. But eventually all those things – all the magic – disappeared, so much so that people forgot it ever existed. But as you know, without any forewarning, magic came back to the world, including its impossible creatures. Witches and priestesses wielded power as they’d never had before. It seemed like we were at the height of magic. But the wars are over, and we’ve had peace for years now. The last dragon has disappeared somewhere. And some of us who study magic feel that its power is slowly waning.”

The feeling of dread that had appeared in his stomach grew. Jon could feel his heart beating fiercely. When he spoke it felt like there were ashes in his mouth.

“And I was brought back because of magic. I should have died that time, and stayed dead.”

“No, no, no.” Jon heard Brienne murmur to herself.

Marwyn gave him a long, sad look. “Magic is slowly leeching out of this world, Jon Snow. Your heart shows all the signs of slowing down, and eventually it will stop working.”

“How long?” Jon demanded, his face white.

The Archmaester shook his head. “I don’t know. Weeks? Moons?”

“Will I see my child born?” His stupid, stabbed, damaged heart clenched. Brienne took his hand and squeezed tightly. He wished for another six moons, even four would do. Just to see the babe.

Marwyn’s eyes looked at Brienne and gazed at her stomach with a pained expression. “I cannot predict that. I’ve never seen anything like this before. I can only guess based on other patients I’ve treated with compromised hearts. I would hope that you’d live to see your child being born. But I cannot say for certain.”

“There is – there is nothing you can do?” Brienne asked desperately.

The older man shook his head. “Just a good diet, rest…try to live out the rest of your days as best as you can. I’m sorry.” He really did look sorry, to his credit.

Jon stood up, still holding on to Brienne’s hand. “Thank you Archmaester, to have come all this way. I’m disappointed at the news, but I wish you good fortune, regardless.”

Marwyn nodded somberly. “It was an honour meeting you, Jon Snow. _Both_ of you. You are true heroes of Westeros. I just wish the circumstances were better, and the news I had to give more hopeful.”

They left the septry, and walked back to their cottage. He could not say exactly how he felt, except that a part of him felt relieved that he knew. That there was a clear answer.

“I’m glad we came,” Jon said to Brienne as they walked with their arms around each other. “It’s beautiful here, and I’m happy to have seen it with you, dear wife.”

Brienne had tears in her eyes. His heart called out to her. She nodded and pulled him in for a kiss. Her lips were warm and dry and soothed him immediately. They continued to walk, side by side, as the birds sang around them and the sounds of the waves competed with the singing of the wind.

=====

Jaime couldn’t help but watch her from a distance. They had not spoken since that painful conversation a fortnight ago, which did not resolve much of anything. Indeed, it stirred up too many things, too many emotions, too many memories he had vowed to leave behind as he had left his former life behind. For over two and a half years, he had been a dead man, reborn as Brother James, an unofficial proctor on the Quiet Isle. He had enjoyed his time as a dead man. After his long recovery, he found that his life had simplified. He was surrounded by men who rarely spoke, some of whom also had histories they wanted to hide. At first, the silence was impossible; Jaime had always been a talker, and generally did his best to fill any silence he encountered. Yet he persisted and worked with side by side with the brothers until he found his own silence within himself.

Brother James had learned to keep his mouth shut and to lose himself in the specific tasks of his job, whether it be beekeeping, gardening, digging trenches, or taking care of the horses. The jobs he did were all mundane, all simple, and he found that a sense of calm claimed him when he focused on his task. He found that his thoughts slowed, and as his thoughts slowed, his tongue stilled. On the isle, he thought sometimes that he was content. Not _happy_ of course; that was too much to ask. He doubted that he would ever be happy again. 

It was only his dreams that made him restless and anguished. Sometimes he dreamed of Brienne in his arms, sometimes his sister, sometimes he dreamed of rocks falling on him. The dreams made him regret not returning to his family, to Brienne. But he knew that even those thoughts were false, because no one would be happy had he returned; he had done too many irredeemable things. He had betrayed the dragon queen. But most of all, he had betrayed Brienne. Her anguished face was something he dared not remember, but it came back often in his dreams. It was torture. He had followed her, two weeks ago, when she ran away from the apiary, when she ran away from him in shock. He wanted to make sure she was all right, but he saw her collapse and weep on the ground. He immediately made a move to go to her, but he saw that Jon was already there, holding her, and she was desperately clinging on to him. The sight made his heart ache.

So he watched her, as she examined the workings of the farm, the apiary, the brewery. He observed her as she walked side by side with Jon, their arms entwined. Sometimes when he was working, she came across him, and she barely was able to look at him fully, and sometimes he found himself afraid to look at her. Her being here confused him. He wondered how long they were staying. A part of him wanted to accost her and talk to her, his vows of silence be damned, but another part of him wanted to stay away as far from her as possible. He did not deserve to talk to her, let alone have her friendship or forgiveness. What made him sacrifice the sweetness that he had with her in Winterfell? He had never felt so secure and happy as he did then. What made him return to his hateful, traitorous sister who he barely remembered being in love with in the end? Who in the last two years of their relationship, he fucked from a fear of not upsetting her so she wouldn’t do anything stupid to the realm?

Jaime thought it curious when he saw the Archmaester from the Citadel arrive, apparently for the expressed purpose of seeing Jon and Brienne. He had been here for only a few years, but even Jaime knew how unusual an occurrence that was, to be visited by a renowned Archmaester. He suspected something was wrong with Jon, though a strange fear ran through him at the possibility that it might be Brienne who was sick. That fear gnawed at him.

So it was that he found himself knocking on the door of Brienne and Jon’s cottage, holding a basket containing fresh bread, honey, butter and preserves. Peace offering. The door opened and Jaime held his breath. Brienne looked – well, she generally looked wonderful, but she looked specifically _awful_ at this particular time; her eyes and nose were red from recent tears. He had an urge to comfort her, but he tampered that impulse as if he was extinguishing a lit candle.

“Jaime.” She looked surprised to see him. She looked back into the room for a moment, then stared at him, her eyebrows raised.

“Brienne.” He cleared his throat. “I brought you bread and honey, and other things….” He gestured weakly at the basket.

She gave him a thin smile and allowed him in. “Thank you,” she said softly, taking the basket from his hand.

Jon sat at the table, warming himself in front of the fire with a cup of ale.

“Jaime, good to see you again.” Jon smiled vaguely at him, hair falling in his eyes. He looked somewhat preoccupied. 

“Did I come at a bad time? I can go….” Jaime turned to leave.

“No, no. Please stay. It’s been a difficult day.” Jon looked at him with a resigned sadness. Brienne gave him a cup of ale, gestured for him to sit, and joined them at the table.

They sat in silence, all of them watching the fire. Brienne looked up, curious. “Is it your speaking day today, Jaime?”

Jaime chortled. “You know how bad I am at following rules. I mostly stay silent here because of the bad company. Now that some interesting people have come, well, the vows of silence suddenly seem unimportant.”

Brienne smirked a little at his remark, and it made him _delighted_ to see that familiar quirk of the lips.

“I did wonder how you, of all people, could keep quiet for such a length of time.”

“You know me all too well, my lady.” Brienne glanced at him at that comment, but said nothing. Jon looked on, seemingly amused by their exchange.

Jaime turned to Jon. “I’m afraid I wasn’t at my best the last time we met. I apologize for my words that night, Jon.” Brienne looked at him with surprise.

Jon shrugged. “It’s already forgotten. I admit I was also in a poor temper that evening. I had not expected to see you, Jaime. Alive.”

“Yes, well, it’s not every day that the dead come back to life. Present company excluded, of course,” Jaime said with a smile.

Jon stared at him for a moment and burst into laughter. Even Brienne next to them giggled, her teeth flashing.

Jon’s face turned suddenly serious. “I have just found out my second life is more temporary than I had thought – or hoped.” Brienne clasped his arm, looking at Jon with extreme concern.

Jaime felt himself grow cold. “What?”

Jon met Jaime’s gaze with a small, melancholy smile. “You must have seen that Archmaester Marwyn is here. He came specifically to visit me. This thing – this magic that was used to resurrect me – well, it’s fading. And as magic is leaving the world, so will I.”

It was as if Jaime was hearing the words in fog, comprehension seemingly far away. “You aren’t telling me that…you’re…dying?”

Jon nodded. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

“That can’t be.” Jaime stared at the man’s too calm expression.

“We don’t know for sure, Jon. It’s just speculation.” Brienne burst out, her face screwed in determination, like she wanted to fight the whole world. Jon looked at her softly and held her hand in both of his. He kissed it, murmuring, “I’m sorry.”

Jon looked at both of them. “Do you know what I felt when Archmaester Marwyn told me? I didn’t feel anger or sadness. No, I felt relief. You see, I had the odd feeling that there was something wrong for many moons now. I felt myself tiring, fading into nothingness. It’s better now that I know what’s going on and what to expect.”

Jaime was speechless, only managing to gape at Jon in disbelief.

Jon lowered his head. “My only wish – and I doubt it will be granted – is to hang on long enough for our child to be born.” He looked at Brienne again, and lowered his eyes to her stomach. Brienne stared back at him with scared eyes.

Jaime sharply inhaled a breath. He saw Brienne immediately turn to him, her face growing alarmingly red. He looked at her again, and noticed for the first time the very slight bump of her abdomen which wasn’t apparent two weeks ago, when he last was able to look at her without cloak and scarf.

“I did not know. My congratulations to you both,” Jaime managed to stammer out. It was unusual that he lost his composure. His throat felt dry.

Brienne nodded at him, her face embarrassed. Jon’s smile was pure and full of joy as he looked at Brienne, and Jaime knew that the man didn’t intend to make Jaime jealous or upset. _Was he jealous or upset?_ Jaime wasn’t quite sure.

Their conversation flowed easily after that, as they spoke about King’s Landing, Tarth, and life in the Quiet Isle. Jaime’s thoughts were running through him like a churning river. But he managed to smile, and talk, and made himself be entertaining. In truth, he couldn’t wait to get out of the cottage.

Brienne walked him out and stood uncertainly before him.

“I wanted to tell you myself, Jaime. I’m sorry.” She was flushed, her eyes bright and mournful.

Jaime shook his head. “No. I would never expect that of you.” He paused, his eyes searching her face and finding the blueness of her eyes steadying him. He took a deep breath. “I’m happy for you, Brienne. Happy that you’re with child. You’re going to be a very good mother, you know.”

Brienne smiled shyly. “I hope so.”

Her gaze shifted to the ocean in the distance.

Her eyebrows knitted. “I don’t know how I’m going to do it without him.”

“Oh, Brienne. I’m so sorry for the news. Jon is the best of men. He clearly loves you.” It hurt him a little to say those words, but he realized that they were true the moment they came out of his mouth.

Brienne nodded and paused. She looked at him now, a little uncertain. “I hope…I hope we can be friends now.”

Jaime’s heart gave a little twist, which he ignored. He looked into her guileless eyes and nodded. “Yes,” he said. “I’d like that.”

=====

The stallion was immense, its coat black and glossy, its mane wild and long. The animal was a perfect match for his former owner, Sandor Clegane. But it had been a long time since the horse had encountered its owner, and Jon had heard that the animal still wouldn’t allow anyone to ride him except the Elder Brother, on the very rare occasion when he was in a good mood. Yet for all his fierce reputation, Jon was able to stroke his neck, and brush him, and Stranger nuzzled him calmly. He was reminded of Rhaegal, the green and gold dragon that he had ridden at Winterfell, how there was something that drew Jon to him and allowed him to climb on the enormous back and actually fly. In all his life, he would never forget the feeling of power and complete freedom that he felt when he was coursing through the air on that brilliant dragon. He remembered how bereft he had been when he heard that Euron had shot him down over the sea; it seemed impossible that a great, glowing dragon like that would simply be shot down by oversized arrows, especially by Euron of all people. It seemed wrong somehow. At the time, he wasn’t able to think too much about it, or mourn the dragon, because yet again they had been facing war.

“He likes you,” he heard a voice call out to him. Jaime walked toward him but stayed a fair distance away from Stranger. “That demon horse only tolerates a few people,” Jaime said, smiling confidently, giving Jon a flash of the arrogant, golden lion he once was.

“I’m good with animals. Especially the wild ones.” Jon gave Stranger an apple from his pocket, and the horse ate it with a decisive crunch, and searched his pocket for more.

“I remember your dragon. And your direwolf.” Jaime nodded. Jon gave Stranger the last apple from his pocket and walked toward Jaime.

“How are you feeling?” Jaime's voice was tinged with concern.

“Today’s been a good day. It’s actually been a good last few days.” Jon walked alongside Jaime, and felt almost normal.

“I hear you’re leaving tomorrow.” Jaime said nonchalantly, looking off into the distance. Jon realized that Jaime was trying to be…friendly. He nearly laughed.

Jon nodded. “Aye. Travel seems to take a lot out of me, so I hope I’m not too exhausted when we get back to Tarth.”

“It’s just the two of you traveling together?”

“Yes. As is our habit. The smaller the party, the quicker the travel.” They were both warriors and deft with the blade, after all.

Jon gave Jaime a transparent look of curiosity. “You know,” Jon said, as they followed a path that led to the fruit orchards. “Elder Brother has suggested that we get someone from the Isle to travel with us. In case I get ill, or something happens to Brienne and our child.”

“Oh?” Jaime’s face was an obvious combination of interest and anticipation.

“Brienne and I are considering it. I don’t want my wife to have to carry me around like a sack of potatoes while our babe is growing inside her belly.”

“I don’t doubt that she’s entirely capable of it, to be sure. She is the strongest wench I know,” Jaime mused, grinning.

Jon guffawed. “Well, yes. No doubt about that. The truth is, she has lugged me like a sack of potatoes too many times than I dare to admit. But traveling is always a risk.”

Jaime stopped briefly in front of the blossoming cherry trees, examining the health of its leaves. Jon was struck at how healthy and handsome the man in front of him looked. He did not look like he had ever been close to death at any point. He was much changed since Winterfell. In any case, they had all looked like grey, half-skeletons by the end of it up North.

“I remember seeing you for the first time at Winterfell,” Jon said, facing the tall, handsome man. Jaime gave him a glance, an eyebrow raised. “You were golden and fair, and looked like a storybook knight. I thought to myself: ‘That is what a king should look like.’”

Jaime scoffed. “Little did you know how corrupt and rotten I was on the inside, Jon. I recall our meeting too. You reminded me of myself: a young man on the cusp of making the biggest decision of his life, and not realizing the magnitude of it.”

“You did try to warn me about the Night’s Watch, I remember. But my head was too full of ideals. I thought the Night’s Watch was my purpose. A noble fate.”

“As I did about the Kingsguard. I was fifteen when I joined as the youngest Kingsguard. Gods, that was a mistake.” Jaime shook his head. “Of course, the real reason I joined the Kingsguard was for my sister’s cunt. She was very convincing, I’m ashamed to recall.”

Jaime winced. “So in many ways, you have always been much more honorable than I ever was. You actually joined a life-long, celibate order to defend the living and for honour, while I only did it to stay near Cersei’s bed, repeatedly breaking my oaths in the process.”

Jon had never heard Jaime speak about Cersei before, and it disturbed him. He knew that he had left Brienne to return to her, despite knowing the irrational malice that was at the core of Cersei. Jon had never understood Jaime’s decision, and he was likely not to understand it now. Jon wondered if it was at all like his relationship with Dany – how at a certain point, everything seemed inevitable, and there was no way to escape. So Jon held on, and still thought that he loved her, and did nothing when Dany became more unstable. He had no idea that she had intentions to burn the entire city and its population, but he remembered how everything seemed to happen slowly and all at once: the surrender of the Lannister armies, the ringing of the bells, then, the shadow of Drogon and the fire consuming everything. It was as if all the Seven hells had come to earth that day.

They had resumed walking, making their way back toward the cottage. Jaime stopped abruptly.

He looked at Jon, his left hand clenching and unclenching in an anxious gesture.

“Jon,” Jaime said tentatively, “I would accompany you and Brienne back to Tarth, if it please you.”

Jon cocked his head and looked at him with amusement.

“I, uh, I believe it’s about time that I return to the land of the living, so to speak. I haven’t been off this isle for a long time.”

Jon raised his eyebrows.

Jaime cleared his throat nervously. “You mustn’t think that I hope to – well, resume what Brienne and I had in Winterfell. I think that’s firmly in the past, considering she must hate me for what I did.”

“I’m not sure she hates you.” Jon remarked placidly.

“Well, what I’m trying to say is that I have no intention with regards to Brienne. I know she keeps her vows.”

Jon gave Jaime a long look. He had never seen Jaime, the Kingslayer, so godsdamn nervous before. Even in Winterfell, he’d been defiant and decisive and utterly confident. It was a little strange. When he spoke, Jaime looked as Jon had never seen him: humbled, pleading, his eyes simultaneously full of hope and despair. Gods, he really wanted this.

“I shall speak to Brienne, Jaime. If she agrees, then you can accompany us on your journey. Tarth is lovely this time of year, you know.”

Jaime exhaled in relief and gave Jon a roguish smile. Then a grateful glance. He bowed, and strode off smiling, his armor of invulnerability back on again.


	8. Chapter Eight: A Lion in Tarth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne, Jon, and Jaime return to Tarth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Readers, I'm short of time these days, and am unable to respond to comments. It was a choice between that or posting a new chapter. Please enjoy!
> 
> A reminder that there may be fewer updates in this week. I work in healthcare and well, the pandemic is keeping me busy. As always, I have no beta, so forgive typos. Be safe.

If Selwyn Tarth was surprised to see the notorious and lately dead Jaime Lannister come to Tarth, accompanying his daughter and her husband, he hid it well. He merely raised his eyebrows in surprise and said a firm but friendly hello to the man in question. Jaime, free from this pseudo vow of silence as ‘Brother James,’ smiled charmingly and said pretty and witty words to the gigantically tall man, as he was wont to do. Jaime found that words, the whole beautiful, voluminous flock of them, had come back to him the moment they left the Quiet Isle; in fact, sentences just poured out of him, one after the other, in stark contrast to the taciturn Brienne and the usually silent Jon. Jaime was reminded of he and Brienne’s first weeks together, where she had chained him and led him across the Riverlands by rope, and him pratting on incessantly, annoying her to no end. He almost laughed at the memory of the wench’s annoyed face and her barely restrained impulse to hit him just to shut him up.

Podrick, who stood beside Brienne’s father, gaped in shock, disbelieving. He took on a disgruntled expression; his eyes, when he managed to look at Jaime, glared.

“Why did you come here?” Podrick hissed at Jaime, frowning. “She’s better off without you, you know,” Pod practically growled, his tone surprising even Brienne, judging from her expression.

Jaime smiled darkly and let the hostile words slide off his shoulders. “Still a loyal squire, I see. Though I hear you’re a knight now.” The young man looked like he wanted to punch him. In truth, Jaime was pleased that Pod showed such loyalty to Brienne, and it was hardly surprising that the young man would hate him for what he did to Brienne. It was, after all, what he deserved.

He was placed in guest quarters at Evenfall Hall, which were spacious and came with its own sitting room. The servants had put on a fire and left him with water to clean up and wine to drink. He had an excellent view of the Straits of Tarth. The waters were indeed very blue, though not as blue as the eyes of Brienne. He could hardly believe he was here; he remembered gazing longingly at the shapely green isle when he’d passed it on a ship on the way to Dorne. Indeed, everywhere he had gone, he was always reminded of the wench. In many ways, her mere existence had guided some of his better actions; instead of being mired in the dark muck of Cersei, he had struggled to be a better man, with albeit mixed results. Brienne’s brilliant goodness was a testimony of the goodness in the world, and if there was goodness in the world, there could be goodness somewhere inside him.

The journey to Tarth was, if he could sum it up in one word, _fine._ Jon was quiet and kind, though Jamie could tell that the hours upon hours of being on horseback had wrung the life out of him. He looked most despairing when they set up camp and he was unable to do anything to help. Jaime was glad that he was with them then, for even with his one hand, he was able to help the wench set up their tents and hunt and cook. At nights, it was easier to keep watch with three than with two people. He wasn’t sure how Jon convinced Brienne to let him accompany them, but he hoped that it was because she wanted him near. More likely, it was out of politeness, he thought, or the idea that she believed that he should come back to the land of the living.

On the road, he and Jon talked often, and Jaime was surprised at how much he liked the dark-haired man. At Winterfell, Jon always possessed a veneer of leadership, and that shiny metaphorical crown of kingliness that shouted responsibility and kept everyone at a distance. In fact, Jaime had thought him a little dull. But the Jon he was with now reminded him so much of that young man he first met in Winterfell, even though there was more of a sadness about him now. Jon spoke about the Night’s Watch and the utterly irresponsible and crazy mix of discarded noble second sons, idealist young men, and the worst of rapists, robbers, and murders. He understood why Tyrion had wanted to visit Castle Black; Jaime wished that he’d seen the Wall in its heyday. And most surprising of all, Jaime discovered a core of sweetness and humour in the young man, despite his very brooding reputation. He talked of Brienne so adoringly that it made Jaime ache; according to him, the wench had basically saved his life through mere kindness and determination. He and Jon had that much in common in that regard.

He had fewer revealing conversations with Brienne, although they were together on the road and on the seas. She was always friendly, giving him rare smiles, and spoke to him in her usual straightforward way which he so missed. But it seemed to Jaime that their interactions skirted the surface of things, and floated from one subject to another like one of his honeybees. He realized, stupidly, that he might never see that side of Brienne that he knew so intimately ever again. The emotional pull they once had with each other was not just strained, but possibly severed. She had drawn some kind of line around her heart and he was firmly on the other side. Not that he strove to have her – he knew that she was married. He also knew he had hurt her, but she would not even talk about Winterfell or how he betrayed her. She would not hear his apologies, choosing, instead, to focus on the present.

He couldn’t lie to himself and say that he felt nothing when he saw Brienne and Jon retire to their tent every night. He felt an odd longing when he saw them so easily touch on the arm or shoulder, or when Jon leaned against her when he was tired, and how Brienne simply accepted his little touches as if it were the most natural thing in the world. That casual, easy affection was something he never had with Brienne in Winterfell. There was a taint of dishonor to how he had bedded (and continued to bed) her, he knew, and Brienne was shy and embarrassed, so when they were outside her chambers, they were like strangers and dared not touch. The more he thought about it, the more he also realized that he lacked that ease of affection with Cersei as well. Somehow, he was cursed to love quietly and secretly. He was a little ashamed to realized how bothered he was at seeing what the two sincere, honorable fools had together. He was convinced that Jon was the kind of man Brienne deserved: an unabashed hero, humble and above all, a very good man. Unlike Jaime.

The thing was, he liked Tarth. Jon was right when he said that Tarth was beautiful in the Spring, for all the trees were green and the flowers blooming, and there was a pleasant warmth in the air and the occasional strong wind that caressed his hair and lightly kissed his cheek. Perhaps Jon and Brienne had expected him to leave as soon as he delivered them back to the isle, but he stayed, and they let him stay.

A couple of days after they arrived, Brienne came to his rooms, standing on the threshold of the open door, looking unsure and nervous.

He scrambled onto his feet. “Brienne. What a surprise. Please, come in.”

She looked around her and nodded, taking a few steps inside his room. He gestured for her to sit but she remained standing. He remained standing as well.

“I’m sending ravens. To Winterfell. Storms End. King’s Landing. About Jon’s…condition. I thought that perhaps his family might want to say goodbye.” Brienne’s face was pale and strained, her mouth compressed into a line. He had the sudden urge to kiss those lush lips open.

Instead, he said, “That’s a good idea. They should know. I’m sure Jon would want to see his brother and sisters again. Ah, cousins,” he corrected.

Brienne nodded, and her nervousness returned. “I wanted to ask you. I mean – that is – if you want me to mention your own return to Tyrion?” She bit her lip.

Ah. It was something he had forgotten. Being on Tarth, it had entirely slipped his mind that Westeros had long thought him dead. He had wanted to stop in King’s Landing after Tarth to see his brother in person and stand in front of King Bran, but the pull of Tarth was too strong, and he had simply wanted to stay. With Brienne. And with Jon.

“Oh. Yes. I had forgotten.” Brienne frowned at his nonchalance. “Yes, please, tell my brother and King Bran and Sansa and everyone that I’ve returned, for better or worse. It’s no secret now.”

Brienne nodded, satisfied she had her answer. She turned to go, and Jaime wanted to stop her, delay her. He wanted to touch her hand. Beg forgiveness. He thought he should offer food. Or ask her for a tour of the island. But he said nothing; instead, he watched her walk out of his room, her light blond braid hanging between her shoulder blades.

=====

As Brienne entered her six month of pregnancy, she discovered that she could not fit into her armor anymore, nor did her jerkins or breeches fit. She’d had to settle for simple, sack-like dresses which, while cool in the warm weather, were impractical for training or riding. She had drawstring pants made for when she rode out, but she anticipated that soon enough, she would not be able to hoist herself onto the saddle at all. On the other hand, she felt healthy and strangely full of energy, though she was hungry all the time. Her changing body needed some getting used to, and she found herself bumping into things when she was turning around or navigating a narrow corridor.

Her condition had limited her ability to tour the island as part of her duties, so she did the job of the Evenstar from the castle. Pod and Jaime had taken over visiting the villages and talking with the smallfolk on her behalf. After some time and some cajoling, Pod had finally become a little friendly with Jaime, although she wasn’t sure he had entirely forgiven him. Since both of them had an easy way with people, the smallfolk took to them both; only a handful of people were initially suspicious that the Kingslayer had come in their midst.

Indeed, Jaime was always there, always around, especially when there was a job to be done. He did not say how long he was going to stay, nor did Brienne ask. He just stayed. After consulting with Brienne, Jaime had started to build a walled garden where he wanted to set up an apiary at Evenfall. He kept himself busy, and his skin acquired a warm, golden-kissed tint from his time outdoors, his hair lightening to a sunny blonde. Brienne secretly thought he looked like some sort of ancient sun god. 

Jon, in contrast, grew weaker, though he had days when he was able to take short walks among the grounds, but mostly he was too tired and short of breath to venture beyond their chambers. It was soon apparent that Archmaester Marwyn’s prognosis was accurate; Jon did not gain strength or get better, despite the rest, food, and exercise. Still, surprisingly enough, he was in good spirits.

“Good morning, wife, it’s a lovely day.” Jon said, kissing her neck and ear, waking her up most pleasantly. She felt his hands roam her breasts and wrap around her big belly. “Hello baby,” he said, while kissing her jaw and neck some more.

Despite the circumstances, he always made her feel so godsdamn lucky at times like this. She stretched, and turned her body to face him. His look was tender and full of love, but she saw the dark shadows under his eyes, and how drawn he looked. She kissed him and drew him close, smelling him and feeling his warmth against her.

“Jon. Did you sleep well?” She ran her fingers through his thick hair.

“I slept,” he said casually. He looked at her with bright grey eyes. “I think I’d like to walk the gardens today, or at least sit on the terrace.”

“You feel good today?”

Jon grinned, a little mischievously. “I think it’s going to be a good day. I can sense it.”

After her duties as Evenstar was finished for the day, Brienne walked arm in arm with Jon toward the grounds. He wanted to see the new walls of the future apiary, and Brienne readily agreed, having heard Jaime practically talk their ears off about it over supper nearly every single day. From the outside, the walls, made of rough stone, were neat and nearly as tall as Brienne herself; it was necessary to protect the bees from any harsh winds, according to Jaime. She was well pleased at the enclosure, and looked forward to years of having Tarth honey with her porridge.

“Come,” Jon said, smiling playfully at Brienne, tugging her by the arm through the gate.

She trailed after him and had to stop in surprise, for in the middle of the green field, dotted with flowering cherry and plum trees, was a quilted blanket on which a veritable feast of fruits, sweets, cheeses, meats, and drinks were spread. Jaime and Pod stood beside it, looking proud at their work.

“Surprise!” The three men whooped. Brienne stood there like a stunned goose, her eyes wide in disbelief. She looked over to Jon, who grinned and embraced her and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

“What’s this?” Brienne managed to say, looking at each one of their faces in return. Pod was beaming and Jaime looked at her with laughter in his eyes.

“Happy nameday, wench!” Jaime said, bounding toward her and holding out a bouquet of wild flowers which he’d hidden behind his back.

She stared at him like a stunned fish, but accepted the flowers. “My nameday? Is it today?” Gods, she’d been so busy with her work and the babe and Jon that it had entirely slipped her mind.

“You’ve forgotten your own nameday?” Pod exclaimed in surprise, trying to hide a giggle that was bubbling forth.

“Gods, she really did,” Jaime said, amused. “That would never happen with the Lannisters.” He smirked.

Jon squeezed her shoulders and gave her an affectionate look. “I had a feeling you forgot this morning,” he admitted. “All of us wanted to make this a special day for you. You deserve everything, Brienne.”

Tears welled up in her eyes, and she felt her throat tighten. She had never felt so surrounded by love, so appreciated. Embarrassed and blushing, she stared closely at her bouquet. They were the large blue and yellow blossoms which grew all around the cliffs of Tarth.

“Jaime,” she looked up at the blond man, “These flowers are beautiful. Thank you.” She sniffed their sweet and slightly spicy scent.

“Jaime walked around the island this morning picking them all himself,” Pod divulged. Jaime gave the young man a stern look.

She smiled broadly at Jaime, and he returned her look with a small, beautiful smile.

“Come, let’s sit,” Jon said, leading her by the hand to the blanket. Brienne lowered herself down with difficulty, but was still stunned from the loveliness of the picnic. Pod began to pass out plates and food and drink, and they began to eat with the easy familiarity of long-time friends. She felt nourished and valued, both physically and emotionally, and wished that this moment would last forever.

Later, Pod handed her a wrapped package. She looked at him with surprise. “Pod, you didn’t have to get me anything!”

“I wanted to, my lady ser.” He earnestly watched her unwrap the package, which turned out to be several bags of tea.

“These herbs are supposed to be good for your health and your baby,” Pod said. “Sylvi’s mother highly recommends the teas and says they’re a tradition in her family. She swears by them”

She reached out to grab his hands. “Thank you, Pod. I can’t wait to try it. Will you convey my thanks to your Sylvi and her mother?” Pod nodded.

She looked gratefully at each of them and cleared her throat. She could feel her cheeks becoming hot and pink.

“I want to thank you for this surprise. I – I – never celebrate my nameday, but I can say with true honestly that this is the best one I’ve ever had. I don’t deserve you. You don’t know how much this means to me,” Brienne managed to choke out, tears threatening to overtake her again. Jon pulled her into his arms and she clung to him for some moments.

Both Jaime and Pod looked at her affectionately, warmth radiating from their faces.

The afternoon had been perfect. As she sat on the bed beside Jon, she thought that she could never forget this day, that the memory of the afternoon would crystalize in her mind and become a shining jewel. She had never known such kindness.

“Here,” Jon said quietly, placing a small box in her hand. “My nameday gift for you.”

She looked up at him in surprise. Jon’s grey eyes were large and eager, a slight smile hovered around his mouth.

“Jon.” She gingerly opened the box and gasped. Inside was a small silver pendant of a star with a large, round sapphire in the middle. The stone was a clear, deep blue, its facets sparkling and glowing.

“Jon. It’s beautiful,” she breathed in awe. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she hugged him fiercely.

“Hmmm. I’m glad you like it. I had it made especially for you, Brienne.” Jon looked at her as if he was studying her reaction and face.

She touched it with a near veneration. “I’ve never seen anything that pretty.”

“Come, let me put it on you,” Jon said, buckling the clasp at the back of her neck. The necklace hung right between her collarbone, and she already felt the heat of her skin warm the metal.

Jon drew a breath. “It looks beautiful on you. It matches your eyes.”

She coloured and felt all too warm. Her heart was singing.

=====

It was rare that they were alone, what with Brienne’s duties, and her anxious hovering around Jon, not to mention Pod, who was always around to assist the Evenstar. It also occurred to Jaime that perhaps she had been deliberately avoiding him. But he had made sure to help whenever he could, and in this way, he had gradually earned back the respect of young Pod, who really had grown up, having already become a knight and taking on some responsibilities around Tarth. It was likely, from the way he talked about his girl, that he would marry within the year.

Brienne had summoned him to her solar that afternoon. He wondered about it, and could not help but feel a sense of dread; he had tried to make himself indispensable to her and Jon, but a part of him feared that she might ask him to leave the isle. One thing he knew for sure was that he did not want to leave, not when Brienne was heavy with child and Jon so quickly fading. Jaime tried very hard to keep his dishonorable impulses in check with regards to his attraction to Brienne. He knew that she was one of the truest people who ever lived and look her vows to Jon seriously. Not to mention every clear indication that the two were both devoted to each other.

He knocked on her door and entered when she told him to come in. It was late afternoon, and the sunshine had mellowed to a golden light that filled the solar and gilded the majestic form of Brienne. The child within her had made her edges softer and rounder, and he easily saw how round and full her breasts were, how instead of angles, there were curves interrupted by the impossibly long lines of her neck, arms, and legs. The later stages of pregnancy had forced her to wear loose gowns, and she looked more like the Mother than the Warrior every day. Alarmingly, his mind pictured her stripped of those gowns, naked, her taut and strong body blooming with life; he imagined his hand and mouth tracing along every new curve, he imagined feeling her warm skin against his. A sharp ache of want ran through him as he fought to gain control of his own body, which was already responding to the images that came unbidden in his head. Gods, so much for keeping his dishonorable impulses in check.

She turned to him, handing him a cup of wine and asking him to sit on the settee. She smiled at him in a vaguely friendly way.

“Brienne. Are you well?” Jaime asked, looking at her closely. He rather enjoyed the blooming pink on her cheeks. She looked like a wildflower herself, glorious in the afternoon light.

She coloured a little more and nodded. “As well as a person _can_ be who’s getting bigger and bigger every day. I’d never thought I’d ever feel larger than I was, but gods, sometimes I do feel monstrous.” She sighed.

Jaime vehemently shook his head. “Brienne. You shouldn’t say such things. I’ve never seen you look so lovely,” he burst out.

She stared at him and laughed. “Gods, Jaime. You don’t have to say things like that.”

He pursed his lips and remained silent. If only she knew how desirable she truly was, even while heavy with another man’s child. He thought vaguely that the child could have been his. How many times had he wished he were in her bed instead of Jon? Not that he resented Jon, given his dire prognosis. Jon had come to think of him as a friend, and vice versa, but gods, Jaime was a bad man. He was a bad man because a part of him was hopeful that he would get a chance with Brienne when Jon was out of the picture. Did he wish for Jon to die? No, but he supposed he wouldn’t mind it if he did. _There._ He _was_ an evil man.

His disturbing thoughts were interrupted by Brienne, who was reaching for something on the floor next to her. She pulled it out, the familiar golden sword, magnificent with its large ruby at the hilt, the sheath of red gold.

“Widow’s Wail. You have it,” Jaime breathed, marveling at its ornate beauty. It had been years since he’s touched it. He flashed to the memory of how the blade felt in his hands, slashing, cutting, killing monsters and enemy soldiers. How well it had balanced in his left hand, feeling like it was an extension of him.

She smiled at his reaction, and handed him the sword. “Your brother gave it to me, as a keepsake. No one has ever wielded it, even though I had thought of giving it to Pod at one point. In the end, I could not bear to part with it. Thank goodness, because you have returned to reclaim it.”

He unsheathed the blade, and saw the ripples of red and black, identical to its twin Oathkeeper, which hung from a hook nearby. “It’s magnificent. I missed it.” Jaime looked at Brienne with gratitude.

“Thank you.”

Brienne nodded an acknowledgement. “I’m glad to see it back in your hands, Jaime. By the way, Tyrion has your golden hand. I imagine you can also get that back when you see him.”

Jaime shook his head and winced. “He can keep my golden hand. It was never of any use and is far from practical.” He held up his wooden hand. “This is far lighter. I have a mind to commission a steel one. A hook perhaps. Do you think the Lord of Storm’s End would deign to forge me a hook?” He smirked.

Brienne did not pick up his jest. Instead she looked at him with a serious but confused expression.

“Surely you’d want your hand back. After all, didn’t your sister commission it for you?”

He stared at her, silent.

She blushed and shook her head. “Forgive me, I shouldn’t have brought her up. I’m sure it’s still painful to you.” She gave him a mournful gaze. “I’m so very sorry, Jaime.”

His throat was oddly dry, and words seemed to have flown away from his head, so he just stared. Brienne blushed even more deeply, and stood up from her seat with an adorable grunt.

“Thank you for coming here. I – I must return to Jon. See how he is.” For a pregnant woman, Brienne moved surprisingly swiftly away from him and toward the door.

“Brienne.” Jaime found his voice at last.

“I will see you later, Jaime.” She gave him a slightly panicked look and threw open the door and strode out, leaving him still sitting in her solar.

“Wait,” he belatedly called out. But she was already gone. He sighed. He gulped his wine. He sighed.

=====

“So, you’re alive after all,” Tyrion said, unwilling to conceal the sarcasm in his voice. It had taken a few inquiries to find Jaime’s whereabouts, and Tyrion was sweaty and hot by the time he reached the walled courtyard.

Jaime looked up from his work of gardening, turning in surprise, a broad smile taking over his entire face. “Tyrion. You’re here.” His brother quickly strode toward him and enveloped him in a long embrace. Tyrion relaxed into his big brother’s arms, still unbelieving that he was alive and not decomposing in the earth somewhere in King’s Landing. They let go and looked each other over.

For a man who was supposed to be dead, Jaime looked a specimen of health, and was vastly improved from the miserable wretch the last time Tyrion saw him in the tents outside of the capital city. He was working shirtless, and his physique had returned to his golden lion days, his skin and hair burnished by sunlight; only a smattering of grey and silver in his hair and light lines around his eyes betrayed his age.

“You look much better than expected for a dead man, dear brother. It seems manual labour suits you.”

He gestured at his surroundings. “I’m putting some flowing shrubs and berries in the courtyard, for the bees.”

“Brienne told me you were making a paradise for bees out here.” Tyrion never understood his brother’s attraction to the outdoors, as he much preferred the controlled environment of being inside, thank you very much.

Jaime smiled at him. “It’s good to see you, Tyrion. I’ve missed you.”

“Funny, you didn’t miss me three years ago when we all thought you’d died.” Tyrion frowned and gave his big brother a hurt expression.

Jaime put his tunic back on and gave him a guilty look. “I know – I know I should have contacted you – _you_ most of all – but I genuinely thought that you would be better off without me in your life.”

Tyrion’s anger flared. “Well that’s very selfish of you, dear brother. Do you have any idea of the hell we’ve been through, knowing that you died trying to save Cersei?” He glared at Jaime. “I’m surprised she’s let you stay here on Tarth, after what you put her through. You didn’t see her at that time. At least I had the distraction of rebuilding the city and being Hand. Brienne was a ghost, Jaime, so ill and miserable. It hurt to just look at her. She has no defenses, as you well know. Her face reveals all.”

His brother grimaced, and ran his hand through his hair. “I gathered that. I’m sorry. I’ve always been selfish.” He let out a deep sigh. “You know, I think I would have lived out my days as a silent brother on the Quiet Isle if Brienne hadn’t arrived. I know I owe her a debt, though I don’t know if she’ll ever forgive me.”

“Then why are you here? Why not come back to King’s Landing or take your place as the Lord of Casterly Rock?”

Jaime vigorously shook his head. “No, I can’t leave her, even if I have no claim on her. I’d like to think that she needs me. She will need help with the pregnancy, the baby. Then there is Jon.”

“Ah.” Tyrion’s irritation deflated to a bleak despair. He’d been surprisingly moved when he’d learn that Jon was dying; the man was still so young, and on top of that, noble and so bloody good. He was someone who truly lived for others and sacrificed his own personal happiness for the greater need of the realm. After the wars, Jon finally got the chance to make himself happy. Tyrion had been glad when the man had finally found that happiness with Brienne; admirably, both of them had forged their own lives from the rubble of chaos and pain.

“Jon. Gods. What a terrible business. How is he? The first thing I did when I arrived is to come find you.”

Jaime slowly shook his head. “He’s in good spirits. Surprisingly happy, actually…considering. But he’s weak, and getting weaker. He has good days, but more bad.”

“There’s nothing to be done?”

“They’ve consulted everyone. It seems related to the leeching of magic from this world. The Archmaester from the Citadel thought it was because he was brought back by magic, when really he should be dead from all those stab wounds in the chest.”

Tyrion paused in thought. “Curious. King Bran has remarked upon the same thing, that his powers as the Three-Eyed Raven were waning. He definitely has been having fewer visions. The bright side is that he seems to becoming more…human…if that is the correct word.”

They were silent as Jaime finished gathered his things. “Come, Tyrion. Let’s go back. I’ll show you around Evenfall.”

As they started walking, Tyrion suddenly stopped and looked up at his golden brother. “I’m sorry to bring this up, but I need to make sure.” He cleared his throat nervously. “Our sweet sister is really dead, isn’t she? She’s not going to make a surprise appearance any time soon, right?”

Jaime gave him a stern, irritated look and grimaced. “Yes. Cersei is dead. For certain.”

They resumed walking. Tyrion could not help but feel a surge of relief.


	9. Chapter Nine: Wolves at the Door

One by one, the wolves came to Tarth. First was Arya, who arrived quickly, having already delayed further travel from Storm’s End for many moons. Everyone suspected that the young, dark-haired beauty had some sort of understanding with the Lord of Storm’s End, but no one dared question the frankly intimidating young woman, who looked at you as if she would kill you if you ever inquired about her romantic life. She showed up like a shadow in the night, without announcement or notice of her arrival. Instead, she appeared in Jon’s chambers one evening, after he came back from supper, walking slowly and arm in arm with Brienne.

Her short, trim form was silhouetted in front of the window, and she turned when they entered the room.

“Arya?” Jon said in wonder, his eyes widening in surprise. The sibling-cousins stared at each other for a long moment, each taking each other in. If his sister was alarmed at his gaunt appearance, she did not let her face show it. Instead, she rushed over to him and hugged him hard. She grinned up at him when she pulled away, immediately reminding him of the little girl who hated needlework and longed to train with the boys.

Her eyes slid to Brienne, her eyes growing wide. “Brienne, you’re large and glowing!” Arya launched herself into her embrace. Jon hid a laugh to see the very tiny Arya against the very tall form of his wife. They could not be more physically opposite.

Brienne laughed. “Gods, you make me sound like the sun! Large and glowing.”

Jon tugged at her hand and kissed it. “That’s because you are my sun, my love.”

Arya rolled her eyes. “Gods, that’s rather too sweet for my liking.”

Jon chuckled. Brienne assisted him on to the bed. He was feeling rather poorly, despite the burst of energy that Arya brought with her presence. Brienne looked at the two of them and murmured her excuses, leaving them alone to talk.

They stared at each other, suddenly speechless. He noticed, for the first time, how similar they looked, with their grey eyes and dark hair. Both of them had the Stark look, and strangely enough, out of all the Stark children, both of their direwolves still lived and had packs of their own somewhere out in the wilds.

“Arya. I’m glad you were able to come. I didn’t know where you were.” His little sister was a wild one, elusive as a star. When she was here, she was here, and when she wasn’t, she simply wasn’t.

The girl nodded. “I’ve been staying for a while at Storm’s End.” She paused. “Gendry says hello. He’s not able to come, because of Lording business, but he wanted me to give you his well wishes.”

“Are you thinking of taking him for a husband, dearest sis?” Jon couldn’t help but tease her, at least a little.

Arya pursed her lips stubbornly. “I told him not to wait for me. But that fool waited all the same. I suppose we might get married one day – you and Brienne seem happy, and that makes me hopeful as to the _idea_ of marriage, at least.”

Jon smiled. “We are very happy, despite the strange circumstances around how we ended up together. It surprised me, how much I ended up adoring her.” He looked at her with an affectionate look. “It’s important to – I don’t know…to _allow_ yourself to love, Arya.”

His sister looked at him with a sullen expression. “I don’t know, Jon. Sometimes it’s hard for me to stay in one place. And to consider something so permanent as marriage….”

“I can’t lie to you. To love someone is scary. It’s terrifying. But it’s worth it to allow yourself to trust that person. To trust that they won’t break your heart. It’s no guarantee, of course. Love is always a risk.”

Her eyes were dark and large. She grabbed his arm and squeezed. “Jon. I love _you_.”

He broke into a warm smile, and took her hand in his.

“And I love you, dear Arya. I’m so glad to see you here, and living the way you want. So brave. And strong. Father would have been so proud of you.” He held her face in her hands and took a deep breath. “You must promise that you, Bran, and Sansa will always look after each other. Remember, the pack stays together.”

Fat tears were rolling down her cheeks, and Jon too, could feel that his eyes were wet.

“Is there no hope?” Arya cried, burying her face in his chest. The feared assassin entirely a scared little girl again.

He stroked her hair in comfort. “I’m afraid not, little wolf. But you know something? I’m not scared of dying. I’m ready. I’ve faced death before, and know it well. And the last few years since the wars have been the happiest of my life.”

“Oh, Jon. Still. It isn’t fair.” Arya inelegantly wiped her eyes and nose with her sleeve, which made Jon smile.

“Arya,” Jon said, his face intent but hopeful. “Would you be my child’s godmother? I also plan to ask Sansa, but I’d feel better knowing that you two would be in the child’s life in some capacity.”

She nodded, agreeing readily, grinning broadly. “Gods, Brienne will be sick of me, Jon. I don’t think I can leave her alone when the baby comes. I’m going to be the best godmother. Better than Sansa.”

“Good.”

They smiled at each other, each simply delighting in the other’s presence.

His sister cocked her head and gave him a strange look. “So. Jaime Lannister is here.”

“He is.” Jon quirked a smile at her rather suspicious tone.

“Why is he here? Are you not bothered by his presence considering-”

“Considering Brienne was in love with him, and we all thought he was dead?” Jon sighed and looked at her with solemn eyes. “I don’t know, Arya. If things were different – if I weren’t dying, maybe I’d be bothered. But in truth, Jaime has been a good friend to me. To both of us. And Brienne is dealing with so much that I’m glad that there is someone to look after her. Jaime is a good man, and he cares for her.”

Arya stared at him.

“She deserves to be happy, Arya, even after I’m gone.”

His sister frowned, then nodded slowly, steeling her expression into a calm one. “I understand.”

“Do you still have Needle?” Jon asked, suddenly remembering.

“Always,” his sister said, a puckish glint in her eye.

=====

The next few weeks were a whirlwind. Arya stayed on Tarth while Gendry paid the occasional visit, mooning around her like a man in love. Sansa and Bran visited for only a week, the duties of their respective monarchies preventing them from staying longer. Brienne noticed that Sansa’s eyes were red from weeping every time she saw Jon, and Brienne felt incredibly sorry for the Stark siblings, having survived the worst the in wars only to see yet another brother dying. She tried to comfort the red-haired queen the best she could, but there really was nothing that could be done. However, Sansa brought a small trunk load of handmade clothes for the baby, along with a very soft grey velvet coat that was finely embroidered with blue direwolves and moons for Brienne. For Jon, she had given a white handkerchief with an intricate design of direwolves and dragons surrounded by trees in grey and blue thread. Jon had treasured the gift, and placed it under his pillow each night so he could have it nearby for comfort.

She was most surprised by Bran, who had lost the dull, detached manner that had been the main component of his personality. To Brienne’s surprise, the young man looked his age, smiling and actually joking, and seemed brighter and much more _alive_ than when last she saw him _._ It was the magic going out of the world, Brienne thought with a sad realization. The Three-Eyed Raven was receding and King Bran was reverting to the young man that he once was, though he was still the King of the Six Kingdoms. The young King had brought a gift for Jon, a wooden wheeled chair that was similar to his own. She was grateful for the gift, though it unpleasantly reminded her that one day Jon may not be able to walk and carry his own weight. The chair was a reminder of a dire future she did not want to have to face.

Brienne took to resting in her solar when Jon had visits with his family. She was slowly nearing her due date at over seven moons, and she felt enormous, although Maester Yaron reminded her that because she was so tall, she looked a lot less large than another woman would be at her stage of pregnancy. Brienne disagreed; she couldn’t see her feet anymore, and she had to wear even bigger dresses now. She was warm all the time, and her feet ached and swelled terribly. So she found herself laying down on the divan with her feet elevated by pillows, and poor Pod was writing down notes and correspondence relating to the duties of the Evenstar. Her father promised to take over duties of the Evenstar in the next week, until a few months after the child was born.

Jaime appeared in the doorway, a plate of breads and cheeses and fruit in his hand. He often visited her and Pod in the afternoons, bearing food or drink, just to make sure she was eating properly. His appearance often signaled the end of the workday for Pod, who eagerly looked at Brienne for leave.

“See you tomorrow, Pod.” Brienne called out to the grinning Pod. Jaime winked at the young man.

“Say hello to Sylvi for me,” Jaime called out to the retreating figure, who had barely had time to respond before he jogged out of the solar.

“He seems anxious to leave today,” Jaime observed, placing the platter of food on the small table in front of her divan, and sitting himself into an armchair with a small groan.

Brienne gave him a slightly guilty look. “I’m afraid I was a bit of a bear to him today. Grouchy and irritable. And this paperwork is tedious at best.” She sat up and took a drink of water. “It’s so hot! My back aches. My feet are sore and swollen, not that I can see them.” She sighed. “Poor Pod, having to deal with me all day.”

“He does have the patience of a saint,” Jaime said pleasantly. He offered the plate to Brienne, and she took a few figs to eat.

“Thank you,” said Brienne. She blushed. “Not just for this,” she said, indicating the food, “But for all the help you’ve given us. The island. With Jon. With me.”

Jaime shook his golden head. “No, it’s nothing. I wish I could do more. I wish you would let me do more for you, Brienne.”

She looked at him and smiled gently. “I don’t know what else you could do. You are already a great help with the duties of the Evenstar.”

Jaime took a deep breath then tilted his head at her, his green eyes wide. “I could…for example…rub your back or feet, if it will relieve your pain.” He stilled. “I used to do that often for…uh…Cersei when she was with child. It was the only thing that she allowed me to do for her.”

He looked at her with an air of nervous anticipation. She observed his hesitation at saying his sister’s name and spoke. “Jaime, you don’t have to refrain from talking about Cersei with me. I know how much you loved her, and I want you to know that you can tell me about her if you want. Sometimes it helps. I spoke to Jon quite a lot about you in the beginning.”

He shook his head and stared at her. “No, I – I don’t really think of her. Of course sometimes I do, but strangely enough, I don’t miss her.” He swallowed. “I think she was dead to me long before I left for Winterfell.”

Brienne furrowed her brow, confused.

Jaime continued, rather nervously. “But thank you. I’d thought you might be bothered if I casually brought her up in conversation.”

There was an awkwardness between them at that moment that Brienne tried to dissipate.

“All right,” she said. Jaime raised his eyebrows inquiringly.

“Feet.”

Jaime grinned and plopped himself down on the farthest end of the divan, lifting her feet into his lap. She watched him as he slowly removed her slippers. He glanced at her and smiled charmingly.

“You know, I’m very good at this,” Jaime practically purred, his voice low.

Brienne snorted. “You think you’re good at everything, Jaime.”

He smirked and raised a seductive eyebrow. “Aren’t I? You, of all people, should know _very well.”_

She rolled her eyes while he laughed.

The moment he touched her foot she felt a pleasant ache, and as he pressed all the muscles of her tired feet, she involuntarily let out a low moan. His hand and his stump (for he had removed his wooden hand) pressed and kneaded, and she felt herself become more and more relaxed.

“Gods, that’s good.” Brienne let out a happy sigh. She opened her eyes and noticed Jaime was staring intently at her, as if studying her expressions. His touches were firm, forceful and tender.

All of a sudden she felt pressure in her belly. “Oof!” She cried out in surprise.

Jaime stopped his massage and looked at her in alarm. “What’s wrong?” Jaime’s voice was anxious and urgent.

Brienne let out a short laugh and shook her head. “It’s nothing. The baby suddenly got very active.” She touched her belly. Jaime looked longingly at her hand on her abdomen.

“Here,” Brienne said, “Touch here.” Jaime gave her a look of delighted surprise and tentatively placed his hand and stump on her protruding belly.

“Oh!” Jaime exclaimed, looking at her with eyes full of wonder. “An active little one, isn’t it! Probably a future great warrior like you and Jon.”

Brienne giggled, feeling suddenly happy at seeing Jaime’s pure smile of joy.

=====

Jon liked sitting in the new apiary, which was currently home to white wooden boxes of honeybees that had come from the Quiet Isle. The area was walled in stone, to better protect the creatures from the Tarth winds and storms. Jaime had planted flowering cherry, plum, and apple trees, along with berry bushes and herbs to give the bees a nearby source of nectar. In the summer afternoon, it was a pleasant place to be, shaded under the canopy of trees, the mesmerizing low drone of the bees lazing in the air.

Jon knew he would not live long enough to taste the honey that would be made here. Just as he wouldn’t live to see his child grow up or perhaps be even born. The thought should have filled him with anger and indignation, but he had accepted his fate months ago, since the visit to the Quiet Isle. He sensed it now, _death_ , coming ever closer. Physically, the signs were evident; he was weak, easily tired, and could hardly walk any distance on his own any more. He was thankful for Bran and his wheeled chair, which had provided him with the freedom of mobility around the castle and the grounds. He had moved to a chamber on the ground floor, and Brienne unhesitatingly joined him. It made him glad; he liked sleeping beside her and waking up with her every day. He liked to touch her as much as he could, give her pleasure, even though he himself was no longer physically able to make love to her.

Jon was filled with a sort of strange happiness when he looked at his wife, and especially now when he saw her growing with his child. He felt that he’d finally accomplished something in life. He knew that with Brienne as a mother, their child would grow up to be smart and kind. He hoped that the child would not inherit his sense of melancholy. Brienne was a wonder; she was beautiful and radiated light in her pregnancy, even though he could see the enormous physical strain on her body. She was more used to the battles on the field than in the birthing bed, and he was grateful that she wanted to have his child. It was at these times that he wished for an afterlife, for he would have loved to see his son or daughter grow up and wanted to make sure that Brienne was happy. She deserved to be happy most of all.

He saw Jaime approach him, smiling slightly. Tarth had improved his looks immensely, Jon thought. The sun made him even more golden, and the tough work of building the apiary and going around the island on horseback had made him stronger than ever. Jon could not help admire the divine gifts of Jaime’s looks, though he could not help but feel envious at the man’s utter vitality.

“You’ve done a good job here, Jaime. It’s a pleasant place to sit and contemplate the world.”

“Thank you. It is rather nice, isn’t it?” He pulled up a nearby stool and sat. “I just hope that the bees feel comfortable enough to multiply, and produce honey. Even though the bees are from the Quiet Isle, the honey will have a different taste because of the plants here.” The man smiled easily, stretching out his feet.

Jon gave the man a long stare. “And will you be around to see that honey be produced, Jaime?”

Jaime started, and gave him a sharp look. “I have nowhere else to go,” he said lightly.

Jon shook his head. “You and I both know that’s not true. You could go to your brother in King’s Landing. Or take over Casterly Rock. You could make your own life there, start your own family.”

Jaime sighed and the corners of his mouth tightened. “I suppose. But I don’t wish to be anywhere but right where I am now.”

“Staying here is a choice you have to make. It should never be a default option.” Jon said pointedly.

“I didn’t say it was,” Jaime retorted, a little annoyed.

Jaime was silent for a few months, and he looked at the trees and the flowering shrubs. “I intend to stay here as long as she’ll have me. I have no desire to run away.”

“Good.” Jon gave him a look of approval.

“Good?”

Jon nodded, his face serious. “I would ask something of you, Jaime. I know I will be leaving this world sooner than later. It would settle my mind to know that someone would look after Brienne and the babe. _You_.”

Jaime gaped at him, his eyes wide and surprised.

Jon took a breath and continued. “I know you care for her-”

“I love her.” Jaime burst out, his face all at once desperate.

Jon looked at him carefully. What he thought would hurt smarted only a little. “Oh?”

The handsome man looked ashamed. “Yes. I’ve loved her since…before,” he whispered, half to himself.

“Does she know that?” Jon felt a little apprehensive.

Jaime shook his head, eyes scrunched in pain. “No, I’ve never said. How could she? I left her.”

Jon made a non-committal sound in his throat.

“She doesn’t forgive me, Jon. I see it in her eyes. She doesn’t trust me. I doubt she ever will again.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that, Jaime.” A part of him questioned the wisdom of giving romantic advice to the man who undoubtedly wanted to replace him in his marital bed, but he thought of Brienne. The child. Her happiness.

“She really did love you, Jaime,” Jon said gently. “I think a part of her still does. Brienne has a lot of love to give, despite her painful past. Despite even her experience with you. I’ve been lucky enough to be the recipient of that love, even though what we had first began as friendship.” Jaime looked intently at him. Jon took a deep breath. “Give her time to adjust. It would ease my mind if I knew that you’d be there for her to comfort her when I’m gone. To be there when the babe is born. Brienne is strong on the outside, but on the inside she’s very tender.”

Jaime gave him a look of surprise. “You don’t think you’ll live to see the baby being born?”

Jon shook his head. “I doubt it, though it is my greatest wish. If only I could hold on for a moon. It’s so close.”

Jaime sighed. “Gods.”

“Indeed.”

Jaime gave Jon a strange look. “You know…sometimes I think about how stupid I was. How if I hadn’t left her, I would be in your place right now, and she would be bearing my babe. She would love me, as she loves you.” He stopped, his face grown pale, suddenly realizing. “I know that’s a rather dishonorable thing to say.”

Jon let out a strangled laugh. “Well, then I’m glad you left her for Cersei. Otherwise, I’d never have this time with her.”

Jon felt a presence, a prickling on the back of his neck, and turned his head to the right. “Little wolf, are you listening to our conversation?”

Arya stepped out behind a tree and lifted her head defiantly. “I was not. I’m to bring you back to the hall. It’s supper time. Didn’t think Lannister would be with you here.”

“You say my name with such affection,” Jaime wryly remarked.

The young woman glared at him, only slightly annoyed. “You’re lucky I don’t call you _Kingslayer_ , Lannister.”

Jaime’s laughter filled the courtyard. “Well, Jon, I will leave you to your charming guard dog. I’ll see you at supper.” He bowed a them both and strode out of the apiary.

“Gods, he’s annoying,” Arya grumbled, slowly maneuvering the chair with Jon in it.

“That he may be, but he’s as soft as they come.”

“Is that why you were trying set him up with your wife?” Arya asked disagreeably.

“He’s a good man,” Jon said noncommittally.

“He left her to go back to his sister-lover, the evil bitch queen.” She growled.

“Yes. He also left her to go to die.”

“So?”

“So? It’s about time Jaime learned how to _live_.” Jon raised an eyebrow and gave her a long look.

Arya shook her head in mock disgust, a fond, exasperated look in her eye. “Sometimes I look at you and Brienne and think how the Gods made two people that good.”

Jon frowned. “I would feel better knowing that Jaime was there for her. And the babe.”

“I know.” His sister let out a long sigh. Jon felt bad for her; Arya always reacted poorly in the face of defeat. His little sister was a fierce fighter. But he knew that she was familiar – _too familiar_ – with death. She spoke little about the training she had with the Faceless Men, but she spoke of death at times in a reverential way. At one point, she mentioned that death was a gift. He doubted she thought death was a gift now.

=====

Brienne could not believe she had only a moon left in her pregnancy; she could not wait for it to be over, yet she was actually not looking forward to the birth. Her own mother had died shortly after her twin sisters were born, and soon after, her infant sisters joined their mother in the hereafter. Jon’s mother Lyanna Stark bled to death after birthing Jon. It was all she could do to prevent herself from shutting herself in her room and crying. She felt death all around her, the darkness threatening to overcome all she had grown to love.

“You’re looking grim, dear Brienne,” Jon said in a soft voice, turning with difficulty to face her in bed.

She looked at her husband who had grown so much thinner the last couple of weeks. His cheeks were hollow, and he had to be helped in and out of bed and into his wheeled chair. Yet his eyes burned so brightly, large and wondering and dominating his whole face.

“I don’t like it,” she blurted out. He reached out and stroked her cheek, and rubbed the spot between her eyebrows where she always frowned.

“I know. It’s not fair,” he acknowledged. “But Brienne, you must promise me to live your life, after I’m gone.”

“Jon, please don’t say that,” she buried her face into his neck.

“But I must,” he insisted. “I want you to be happy with our child. Don’t hang on to my memory.” He held her face with both hands. “If there is a time when someone offers you love, you must take it, Brienne. Promise me.”

“Jon-”

“Please, Brienne. Promise me.” His eyes searched hers beseechingly. A part of her wanted to storm away and never have this conversation.

She kissed him and nodded. “Yes. I promise.”

“Thank you.” He smiled at her, and it seemed to her that he shone with an inner light. “I love you, you know.”

Brienne’s eyes filled with tears, which she swallowed back. “I love you too, dear Jon.” She embraced him, and as her arms went around his form, she noticed with alarm how thin he had gotten. When they drew apart Jon grinned and circled her large belly with his hands.

“So,” he said, “What are we going to name the babe? Is it a boy or a girl?”

Brienne smiled. “I don’t know, but I think it’s a boy.”

“Just a feeling?”

She nodded. He laughed. “Mayhaps I agree with your feeling, wife.”

Brienne looked hesitant. “If it’s a boy, I’d like to name him after you.”

Jon groaned. “Really? I can’t think of a worse fate. Sam and Gilly wanted to name their last baby after me. I thanked the Gods that it turned out to be a girl.”

Brienne smiled slightly. “I want our child to always remember you, Jon. If he has your name, it will be like a part of you will always be with him.”

Jon blinked away tears. “All right. Jon it is. Poor child,” he chucked softly.

“And if it’s a girl?” Brienne asked, “In case we’re both wrong?”

“I suppose that’s entirely possible.” Jon’s face stilled in thought, then he turned to her, a little shy. “Well, I’ve actually given this some thought, and if you agree, I’d like her to be called Lyanna. After my mother.”

“And Lyanna Mormont.” Brienne remembered the tough and strong thirteen-year-old warrior who had killed a wight giant and sacrificed her life in the process. “Yes.”

Jon beamed at her. “Thank you. That makes me happy.” He snuggled against her, his body warm under the blankets. “Come, wife, let us rest.” His hand skimmed her belly and up to her breasts. He held her tight.

She kissed his lips and both of his cheeks, then cradled his head on her shoulders, her arm around him. How did this ever get so comfortable? She felt a beautiful heaviness settle inside her.

“Good night, husband.”

“Good night, wife.”

=====

She awoke from one of the sweetest dreams she’d ever had; she was in a meadow filled with wildflowers, and she was holding her son, a toddler now, a face like his father but with her large, blue eyes. He wanted to walk, so she set him down and he giggled and ran around her, occasionally stumbling in the soft grass. Then Jon was walking toward her, muscular and healthy again, his face full of joy. He scooped up their son and embraced her, kissing her as if he’d been away from her for some time. She was suffused with a feeling of bliss, of having everything she’d needed. She sighed and slowly opened her eyes; it was early morning, and the light of the morning sun came through their windows, a light breeze making the thin summer curtains dance.

She smiled and reached over to embrace Jon. But he did not stir. His face looked too beautiful, but like a statue carved by a master artist, not like…a man who was alive. Brienne felt her blood grow cold. His skin was pale and white, despite the summer heat, and it was cool to the touch though she felt that his chest was still slightly warm. She didn’t know what to do, what to think, but she cupped his face, and kissed his lips, but he was unresponsive and not breathing. She felt for his neck now, and a sense of dread fell upon her as she felt no life in his veins. She placed her ear to his heart, hoping against hope for a tiny patter, but she was met with a cold, dark silence.

“No, no, no,” Brienne finally cried out – or perhaps she screamed – her head collapsing into his shoulders.

She heard the door open, a gasp, and feet running on the stone floor. But she paid them no mind. She saw nothing but the stillness of the form before her, once so alive and vibrant. She couldn’t quite breathe, because she was suddenly sobbing, repeating Jon’s name over and over, and all was black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry....💔😢


	10. Chapter Ten: All is Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne mourns Jon as she grows heavy with child.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 💔💔💔 JON! 💔💔💔 (so sorry for killing him)

Jaime had, in all his life, never witnessed such pain. The sound of Brienne’s anguished screams, seeing her draped over Jon’s lifeless body, the violent wrenching of her shoulders from her sobbing, these images were fresh in his mind, even all these days later. He recalled how they had to physically pull her away from Jon’s body, and only the reminder of the babe in her belly got through the cloud of her grief and allowed them to guide her to another room to rest.

When he recalled Cersei’s grief over Joffrey, he did not feel such a corresponding pain as he did when Jon died and Brienne mourned for him. Jaime remembered how Cersei had quickly transformed her grief into a vindictive, destructive anger that was lethal and targeted others. Even after the death of Tommen, the most innocent of their children, his loss barely registered with his sweet sister. He remembered this with a chill. She, like Tyrion, drowned their sorrows in flagons and flagons of wine. There was no such vengeful turn in Brienne; instead, in the ensuing time, she had slowly retreated into herself, became listless in her movements, her gaze unable to focus. She only ate mechanically because of the baby, and mutely did everything she was told. Selwyn moved back into Evenfall and temporarily resumed the duties of the Evenstar in preparation for his daughter’s childbirth. Both Pod and Selwyn came to him separately, expressing worry about Brienne.

“She was like this, silently suffering, after news about you.” Pod paused thoughtfully. “But she seems worse now than when we thought you had died,” Pod said rather bluntly, sighing into his wine.

“Does she?” Jaime’s voice was light.

“Well, she never thought she could have you when you left her in Winterfell, so I suppose the sadness over having lost something she actually did have – well, it’s even more terrible for her now.”

Jaime threw the young man a sharp look, but said nothing.

“Would you talk to her? She’ll listen to you.” Pod pleaded.

He had wanted – _desperately wanted_ – to talk to her, but she had either been surrounded by people, or shadowed by the equally grief-stricken Arya, whose face was stuck in a continual grieved scowl. At least she was _angry_ over Jon’s death. The wench closed in on herself and became like a ghost. He was loath to admit it, but he was also afraid of talking to her. _Craven_ , he thought to himself. What he was specifically afraid of, he couldn’t really say. But her blank glances frightened him, those blue eyes dull and unseeing.

He knocked on her door. A listless voice bade him to enter. Brienne sat at the window seat, looking out into the sea; she did not turn as he entered. She was dressed in a loose gown that someone had dyed black.

“Brienne.” His voiced sounded shaky to his ears.

She turned now, sudden, her eyes focused on him in surprise. “Jaime. You’re here. I thought you were Arya.”

Jaime took the liberty of perching himself beside her on the widow seat. She looked ill, purple shadows beneath her eyes. A paleness that frightened him.

“Gendry arrived today. I figure he’s following her around like a puppy right now.”

She smiled weakly. “I’m glad. It’s good she has someone to comfort her. I haven’t been much use to her, I’m afraid.”

He steeled himself and took her hand. “And you, wench? Who comforts you?”

She gave him a melancholy look and smiled ruefully. “Wench? You haven’t called me that since Winterfell.”

“Brienne. I’m sorry about Jon – even though I was jealous of him, he was a good friend to me, even in the end.”

She winced a little at his words, but did not pick any of them up, instead letting them fall like worthless rocks. She turned to the window and looked out onto the shimmering evening sea.

“I can’t help but think of what Jon said about death. How, when he experienced it the first time, there was nothing. No light, no heaven or any of the seven hells. Just a blackness. An oblivion. Nothing.” She looked at Jaime, her eyes shiny. Her other hand clutched the sapphire star at her neck compulsively. “I want him to be wrong, Jaime. I can’t bear to think of him just gone. I want him to stay with me, watch over me and our child as he or she grows up.” She rubbed her forehead with a hand in consternation. “But it’s no use, is it?”

Jaime realized that he still had her hand in his, that she either hadn’t noticed, or couldn’t be bothered to pull away. He squeezed it.

“I’m not much of a religious man, and I’m not a philosopher either, but it seems to me that we’ll never know what happens. Perhaps Jon’s experience of death this time was different from the first. He did, after all, die in the arms of the woman he loved.”

Her eyes, when she turned to look at him, were as tumultuous as the blue, stormy ocean. He felt the pull of them and wanted so much to pull her close. Slowly, fat, heavy tears rolled down from her eyes and he couldn’t brush them away fast enough. Any kind of restraint he had within him snapped and he pulled her into his arms, and squeezed her tightly from her side, her large belly jutting majestically in front of her. She rested her head against his left shoulder, as she silently wept and her body shuddered with quiet sobs.

Jaime’s heart felt like it was going to break for her, and all he could do was hold her, murmur meaningless reassurances and made soothing sounds like he would for a hurt animal. Oddly, he wondered if he’d ever felt such sorrow about Cersei’s death. Yes, he had been numb and angry, and felt like a colossal failure; he sincerely felt regret that he could not save the woman he’d loved for decades. He had certainly wished she had lived, along with the babe in her belly; but had she lived, he couldn’t have been here, with Brienne, holding her. He could honestly say he missed the young girl that Cersei once was; although she was never innocent, she was carefree and bold, and seemed to love him with abandon for a time. But that young girl he could not reconcile with the bitter, drunk, obsessed and cruel woman that she had grown into. He did not miss that version of Cersei. He wondered if something inside him was broken, to never have wept for the woman he was supposed to have loved for decades. He wondered if he was a bad man for being glad that he was here instead of moldering in the ground with this sister.

=====

He didn’t stay away after that. In fact, he spent every free moment he had with Brienne. True, she was mostly silent and stared at him with those bewildered, sad blue eyes, but he could talk for two, and he could distract her with news about the apiary, the port, the fishing, the smallfolk, anything. Of course, all the gossip of Evenfall. Thankfully, his constant patter seemed to calm her. He encouraged her to eat, and he prattled on so much that she automatically accepted any morsel of food he lifted to her mouth. She even took to taking short walks with him although he could tell that walking was getting more and more tiring for her. He changed rooms so he could be right across from her. When she lay exhausted, already changed for bed, he would sit on the foot of the bed and massage her feet, which she always seemed to appreciate.

Brienne stared at him, a puzzled expression on her face. He continued to caress her foot, moving up to her calf. He had brought her oils scented with lavender and jasmine at the market for this task, which she seemed to enjoy.

“What is it, wench?” Jaime asked, a charming smile at his lips.

“Why are you doing all this for me, Jaime?” Her eyebrows were furrowed.

“Because you need looking after, wench,” Jaime said smoothly, increasing the pressure on the heel of her foot.

Brienne moaned and closed her eyes. The sound that she made, that low, throaty moan of relief and satisfaction, did strange things to him. He tried not to have inappropriate thoughts. He failed. But he could not help but admire her body, so full of curves at this moment, and the way her dress barely constrained the larger swell of her breasts. He ached to taste her nipples and mouth those soft, round mounds. Gods. It always took him a moment to get this thoughts and emotions together, to tamper the excitement of being so near Brienne, of touching her.

Later, he took a walk before bed in the gardens, appreciating the cool air that blew over the ocean.

“For some reason, Brienne is tolerating your presence, Lannister.” Jaime gave a start at the sudden closeness of the voice. Somehow, Arya had snuck in right beside him.

“Do you ever tire of scaring people like that, little she-wolf?”

“Don’t call me that. Jon is the only one who can call me little wolf.” The tiny young woman narrowed her eyes at him with unwarranted suspicion. “Anyway, I can’t help it of you’re as observant as a hole in the ground.”

“And how is the Lord of Storm’s End this evening? Is he pathetically waiting for you in your chambers, hoping for a kiss? More than a kiss?” Jaime tried to grin his most leery smile.

Arya rolled her eyes. “Gods, you’re such an old man. Pathetic, really.” She gave him a feral grin. “If you must know, we happen to be betrothed.”

He gave her a genuine smile. She, surprisingly, smiled back.

“Gods, Gendry must be relieved. According to Brienne, he’s been moping about you for years.”

The girl laughed. “I know. I needed time to be sure.” She snuck a look at him as they walked. “Seeing how Brienne and Jon were with each other helped me make my choice.”

Jaime sighed.

“You know, it’s a wonder she can stand you. That she even _enjoys_ your presence.” Arya tilted her head. “And that you’ve brought her out of that state she was in. No one could get to her, you know, not me, or Pod, or her father. Just you.”

“I like being with her,” Jaime said simply.

Arya stopped short and grabbed his arm, her bony fingers digging into his muscle. “You better not leave her again, if your intention is to be with her.”

Jaime gaped at the girl and stared, any discomfort on his arm forgotten by her words.

She smiled, revealing slight dimples, and all at once she looked so much like Jon. “For some reason, Jon approved of you, Lannister. He told me that you could make her happy.”

With those final words, she dropped his arm and slid away into the night, leaving him nothing but the light of the moon as his companion.

=====

Brienne woke up in the middle of the night in pain, a twisting and squeezing of her abdomen that left her breathless. It went away, to her blessed relief, then came back again, even stronger than before. It couldn’t be, the baby wasn’t due until two weeks from now, or was it a week? She’d had pain before, but the Maester had told her they were false labour pains and she thought that was what she had now, though the pain had never been so intense before. She tried lying still, not moving, because perhaps if she didn’t move the pain would go away and she’d be back to normal. She breathed. She was sweating. Then again it shook her and it felt like a volcano had ripped through her. The pain was so bad that all she saw was blackness, there was nothing else except for the agony in her stomach and across her back. She thought about her mother, who had died in the childbed, and Jon’s mother as well. A sharp burst of fear gripped and shook her.

Gods, she needed help. Did she yell? She couldn’t remember. When the hit of the pain receded and she could more clearly think, she managed somehow to pull herself out of bed. She prayed that another contraction wouldn’t come when she was on her feet, because she would be felled by it, like an absurdly large tree. She waddled to the door, steadying herself before she pulled it open. Gods, how could she get help? It was the middle of the night. Then she remembered. Jaime was in the room across from her, and she wondered if he would have awoken if she screamed.

She knocked on his door impatiently. Sweat ran down her face and back. It was too long of a wait. She pushed open his door, thankfully unlocked. The moon barely illuminated his room, but she could just make out his bed. She walked unsteadily toward it.

“Jaime.” No answer except his soft snoring.

“Jaime.” She touched his shoulder and gently shook.

“Hmmm,” he murmured, and suddenly his arms were around her, sleepily pulling her into bed with him.

She grabbed him by the shoulder and shook him roughly. “Jaime!”

He opened his eyes, at first bleary and unfocused. “Brienne? What’s wrong?” His voice was thick with sleep and confusion.

But then a lightning bolt hit her body and she collapsed onto the bed; she heard herself finally screaming in pain. She was insensible for a few moments, then she realized that Jaime had been frantically talking to her.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he was saying. “Is it time?”

She took a deep breath. The pain had receded. She moved from the bed and got up. Jaime made sounds of protest.

“I have to go back to my room.” She walked toward the light of the door, her legs weak. She felt his arm around her waist, guiding her, as they returned to her room. When she reached the bed, she turned to him.

“Jaime, will you tell the Maester?”

He snapped his head up, as if waking from a dream. “Maester! Yes! Of course!” He shook his head at his own obtuseness and sprinted out the door.

She stripped the bed of her blankets and lay down, waiting for the next wave of pain to come.

=====

Arya woke up to sounds of someone screaming. She had always been a light sleeper, for on the road sleeping could mean death. Gods, it was Brienne, with her loud, agonizing wail. It was time. She quickly dressed, careful not to wake Gendry snoring beside her, and ran out the door.

She couldn’t help but wince when she saw Brienne, red-faced and exhausted on the bed, panting from her last contraction. The Maester, a kindly looking man, hovered beside her and a round, small woman, whom Arya took to be the midwife, stood nearby, wiping the sweat off Brienne’s overheated brow. Jaime, looking frantic, held her hand, looking at her face with utter desperation and fear. She had never seen that look on his face before, not when he faced a trial in front of the Dragon Queen at Winterfell, not even when he was hacking at dead wights in the Long Night. It was unusual for a man to be in the birthing room, but she assumed that Jaime had insisted and growled and threatened the Maester with extreme violence. Pod and Selwyn hovered outside the door, too nervous to even look inside. Maids came in with hot water and clean towels, and rushed away in panic when Brienne started screaming when the pain came again.

Gods, it was horrible. Brienne shuddered and screamed and squeezed Jaime’s stump so hard that he twisted his face in pain, but credit to him, he never pulled away. Arya did not know how long she had been standing there, watching Brienne twist in agony over and over. It seemed to last forever. She took to helping the Maester fetch things to distract herself from the terrifying sight. Finally, after what seemed like hours, Brienne’s water broke, and the Maester got her into position. He told her to breathe, and the midwife soon took over, sitting on the opposite side of Jaime, rubbing her shoulders and back, telling her to breathe. Brienne looked on the verge of tears, her face red and sweaty, her hair a yellow mess around her head. All Arya could do was stare and wonder how her own mother could have gone through this a total of five times.

“I don’t want to do this!” Brienne kept yelling and Jaime whispered reassurances in her ear, his one hand stroking her hair. And that intimidating, tough warrior woman was simply crying, and Arya told herself she never wanted to go through this herself. Ever.

Then she started to push, and there was more pain, and Brienne gritted her teeth and went nearly purple with effort. She pushed and screamed and there was blood all over, and it seemed to take ages, but suddenly it happened, and Arya saw a light head emerge, then another push, then the big shoulders, then the rest of the baby slid out into the Maester’s hands. The baby was covered with a white powdery substance, blood and slime, and the Maester rubbed it a little, and the tiny body wailed, _wailed_ , as if it already knew what a disappointment life was. Brienne let her head fall back heavily on the pillow and cried with relief. Jaime was right beside her, just staring at her face, and gods, he was crying too.

The Maester wrapped the babe in a towel after cleaning it up a bit, and thrust it to Arya to hold while he dealt with the delivery of the placenta, which plopped out rather anti-climatically like a large piece of liver. The midwife took the baby, cleaned and examined it, making sure it had all its fingers and toes, as far as Arya could tell. The baby was quiet now, breathing happily, having been used to the strange air of the new world it found itself in.

The Maester stood over Brienne now, smiling at her proudly. The midwife handed her the baby, and well, Arya could tell Brienne was exhausted and was about to drop off to sleep in a minute, but she accepted the baby with large, disbelieving eyes.

“You have a baby boy, Lady Brienne.”

Brienne’s face crumpled and at the same time beamed with joy as she looked down at the baby who was very long and rather large.

“A boy,” she said, looking over at Jaime, who scooted even closer to her and lowered his head down to Brienne and the baby. His expression was full of wonder and utter happiness. Even Arya felt her heart melt at the sight of the three of them. For a moment, Arya forgot that the baby was Jon’s. She felt a stab of guilt and pain. Brienne was looking at her now, showing her the baby.

“Arya, meet your nephew, Jon Eddard Tarth.” And it didn’t matter that Jon had been technically her cousin, she was this babe’s aunt and godmother, and she vowed right then to watch over him all her life. But the baby was named after Jon, and her own father, and she knew that it was more Brienne’s idea than Jon’s, who would have been too humble to have his child named after him. She was surprised to find her cheeks wet. She was crying. Gods, all three of them were crying. How embarrassing.

Brienne smiled and offered Jaime to hold little Jon, and the man just melted with happiness as he held the baby and talked to it. He was smiling and laughing and cooing. He was beautiful, and radiant and so happy. Arya felt suddenly glad this man was here for Brienne and the babe, no matter how mixed up he was.

Then the Maester told them to leave so he could clean Brienne up. The Midwife remained to help with the baby, and Brienne definitely needed her rest, because she just about passed out from exhaustion at that very moment.

Arya followed Jaime out, and Selwyn and Pod were whooping and laughing, but not too loud, as not to disturb Brienne and the baby. Selwyn’s eyes were joyous and Pod grinned so hard that his face nearly broke, or so it seemed. Arya wondered now if Jon was somewhere watching them. She doubted it; she knew death well enough, and she knew that the gift was a final one. Still, she couldn’t help but regret that Jon hadn’t been here to see his son being born. He would have been so happy, she thought. So happy.

=====

Brienne didn’t know how long she slept, but when she woke, her body was sore all over. Her insides ached. Gods, she was a _mother_. She just gave birth to a son. _Her son._ And she was alive. Jaime sat beside her bed, sprawled uncomfortably in an armchair. By the light of the fire in the hearth, he looked warm and somehow very happy.

A figure approached her, an older woman with a stout figure and an easy smile. Anna, the midwife. She carried little Jon in her arms and placed him at Brienne’s breast, as she sat up a little. His eyes were closed but he was cooing. Anna explained to her how to give the baby her breast and have him latch, and Brienne unlaced her tunic and allowed the baby to nuzzle and find her nipple. The woman patiently explained how she won’t be producing real milk for a few days, but the type of milk that was available now might be just a mere trickle, but it was high in nutrients and perfect for the baby in his first few days. She nodded, understanding. It was a strange feeling, having a baby at her breast. But Brienne thought she had never been so happy.

She looked over at Jaime, and realized that he was awake and looking at her happily, delight in his eyes. Brienne supposed she should have been shy about Jaime seeing her bare breast, but the babe was sucking at it, and it seemed so natural that she hadn’t felt self-conscious at all. He had, after all, seen her naked body many, many times.

“You should go to bed, Jaime,” Brienne said softly.

He shook his head. “I don’t want to leave you yet. Will you permit me to stay?” His eyes drank her in greedily.

Brienne couldn’t suppress a smile. She had to admit that she felt so much better and so much more comforted with him in the room, decency be damned. She didn’t even care that she probably looked a fright.

“At least go sleep on the divan, Jaime, instead of that uncomfortable chair.”

Jaime grinned. “As you wish, wench.” He went to the divan on the far side of the room, and dragged it so it was near her. He plopped down.

She shook her head and smiled at him. She looked down at Jon Eddard, who was so perfect. Surprisingly, his hair was blond, thick strands of it still plastered on his head. It was hard to tell what he looked like at this stage. He just looked like an ordinary baby with a squished face, though she supposed he was longer than most. She was glad he was healthy; the last weeks since Jon’s death was a fog that she barely remembered. Her heart twisted a little, as she thought about Jon. He should have been here, she thought. She imagined his expression would have been a lot like Jaime’s at this moment. She closed her eyes for a moment and thanked all of the Seven Gods. She thanked especially the Mother for her protection. Looking at her baby’s tiny mouth, moving against her breast, his round head, his fragile neck, Brienne vowed she would do anything to protect her son and help him grow up to be a good man, just like his father was.


	11. Chapter Eleven: Sweet as Honey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne adjusts with the new baby, with Jaime at her side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the world, Jon Eddard Tarth! 💓💓💓

As two moons passed, little Jon grew to be a sweet-tempered wonder, with a voluminous head of surprising white blonde curls, Brienne’s large blue eyes that were mysteriously flecked with violet, and a serious face that reminded Brienne so much of his father. She could never say that the past weeks had at all been easy; in fact, mothering was without a doubt the hardest thing she’d ever done. Being a soldier was simple, all fighting and strategy, the clear black and white of friend and foe. Kill and survive. Prisoner and captive. But she had no words for the complicated mix of fear and happiness in taking care of a helpless newborn, the profound need of a tiny being, and the exhaustion of tending to their every need. According to Midwife Anna and her wet nurse Mara, Jon was a quieter baby than most, but Brienne still thought she sometimes might go crazy from his cries, which seemed deafening to her ears. She was mostly thankful he didn’t cry more. Mara helped with the milk when she needed breaks in the daytime, thank gods, or Brienne would never have been able to get any work done. She was alone with him at night, and he woke her every two hours to feed.

She was thankful for all the help she’d had; her father took care of Evenstar business, but he recently hinted that he would like to return to his new life, devoid of Evenstar duty. She had been slowly taking on more of the paperwork and correspondence of late. He had been ecstatic about Jon, of course, and carried him around while he went walking around the gardens. Pod was always there, helping out both her and Selwyn, though he was a little shy about being around the baby, insisting that he didn’t want to drop him.

Arya stayed, though Gendry had left soon after the baby was born. Brienne was thrilled when she learned they were finally betrothed, though Arya practically dismissed any inquiries around the wedding date. However, she seriously took on her role as godmother. While the young woman seemed at first uncomfortable around touching Jon, she hung around and soon enough took to holding him, caring for him, and just staring at his face in unabashed affection.

“His face looks just like Jon, except with your eyes,” Arya insisted. “That hair though. It’s even lighter than yours, Brienne. It must be the Targaryen coming through.” 

Her dark eyes twinkled mischievously. “I bet he’s going to be loads taller than his father though,” she said, laughing.

But perhaps the most constant presence was Jaime, who still resided in the room opposite, who woke up to the sound of the baby crying in the middle of the night even before she did. Often, he would bring her the babe to suckle at her breast, stayed, then take him back to his crib in the nursery next door. Jaime had watched Brienne at first, learning how to feed Jon, holding him, changing his soiled nappies, and wrapping him up like a cute little pastry. He learned how to do these things practically at the same time that she did, and he took every chance he got to care for the babe. Eventually, he managed quite well, even for a one-handed man.

“You know, Brienne,” he’d said to her one day as they sat on a thick rug with the baby on top of quilts between them. “You might wonder at how I’m so clumsy at caring for the baby. I never even got the chance to hold any of my three children; Cersei wouldn’t allow it, you see. She thought people would suspect.”

She gave him a long look. It was rare that he talked about his children or Cersei. She knew they were difficult subjects for him.

“I’m not sure if fathers in general take on such an active part in the care of their children,” Brienne said diplomatically, thinking even to the experience of her own father.

He shrugged. “Well, I wanted to. I barely had a role in their lives, even as an uncle. Even back then, my sister was paranoid.” Jaime looked at her, his face open and vulnerable. “I never thought that I’d ever get to do this. Thank you for this.”

What the ‘this’ he was talking about struck an odd note in her, but she did not pursue it, letting it instead drop between them.

Brienne gave him a soft smile. “Jaime. It’s me who should be thanking you. Without your help, I could never have done this on my own.” She paused. “You know, you are welcome to be in Jon’s life as much or as little as you want. You know you always have a home here, Jaime.”

She had said it, finally. They had not really spoken about how Jaime had come to Tarth and stayed and had made himself an essential part of her life and the community here. In the back of her mind, a part of her had assumed that one day, he’d pack his bags and run off, as he did in Winterfell. But she supposed there was no Cersei to go back to. That was something in her favour. Of course, had Cersei lived, she knew that he would not be here today; likely, the two of them would be playing at families somewhere in Essos, perhaps happy, perhaps not. Was Tarth a choice at all if there was no choice to be had?

At her declaration, Jaime stared at her with gratefulness mixed with an expression that bordered on yearning.

On his blanket, Jon wriggled and started to make small high-pitched sounds, his arms and hands restlessly waving. Jaime scooped him up and held him, the babe’s head resting at the crook of his right elbow as his left hand stroked the little one’s head. Jaime’s smile was buoyant and beautiful, and he widened his green eyes as he looked into the babe’s blue-violet ones. The babe looked back at him with the most innocent, delighted expressions. At the sight of this golden stunning man holding her adorable son, she felt her heart lift and expand. She wished this picture would remain in her memory forever.

Jaime looked up and shone a smile at her. His green eyes sparkled in the morning sun.

“It’s strange. Sometimes when I look at him and you, or when I’m holding Jon like this, I forget that he’s not mine.” He paused to smile at little Jon. “Then I think about Winterfell, and wondered what would have happened had I stayed. Don’t you wonder about it, Brienne?”

He looked at her wistfully and it seemed to Brienne that she could read the longing on his face, the regret. Her mind dredged up the expression that had haunted her for years – his face in the courtyard at Winterfell – that look of self-hate, worthlessness, and pity for the ugly woman who had stupidly fallen in love with him.

She pursed her lips and shook her head. A flash of warning appeared in her mind. “No. No, I don’t allow myself to think about that. Never. Not about Winterfell, not about what could have been between us.”

“Brienne, I-”

She stood up, and carefully took the babe from his arms. “No, not now. I – I can’t talk about this.”

He also stood. “If not now, when? You’ve been avoiding this conversation for too long, wench,” he said, a little sharply.

“Just-” She was at a loss for words. She couldn’t be in this room. Not with him, not now. Why did he insist on wanting to talk about Winterfell and that night? She couldn’t stand it. She walked into the nursery, kissed the babe, and placed the sleeping Jon in his crib. Mara looked up from her sewing and smiled as she came in.

She was thankful that Jaime hadn’t followed her into the nursery. The way he looked at her since the babe was born, the words he just now said. The yearning in his voice. She didn’t know what it meant, and didn’t want to know what it meant. She walked out of the room, needing to be outside. Needing to move. Run away.

=====

She ended up in the training yard with Pod, as she often did in the afternoons. She was glad to have resumed training after six weeks of rest and idleness while she healed, and was alarmed at how out of shape and breathless she was. Gods, even Pod bested her a couple of times during her first session back, much to his profound delight and her embarrassment.

After sparring, she spent close to an hour practicing her forms and footwork, and slashing at the training dummy. She hit that wooden form until she couldn’t think, until all that was on her mind was her exhaustion, her breath, her sword.

She slumped on the ground, drinking deeply from a waterskin. She chanced to look up at the castle, and saw that Jaime was looking at her from one of the windows, his expression unreadable. She was grateful that he hadn’t followed her down here, like the old Jaime would have. The old Jaime would have been obnoxious and insisted that they talk. Or he would have pestered her until she said something unfortunate in anger. He was always impatient. Provoking. She supposed that he had changed, likely for the better. Years in silence among religious brothers would do that, she assumed. She hoped he was less prone to making stupid decisions.

She returned to her room and sponged the dirt and sweat off her body. Slowly, she was regaining her strength, and her muscles were returning, though she noticed that since the baby her stomach was still soft, instead of the lean muscles she was used to. Her breasts remained heavier with milk, which still felt a little odd. She supposed she was more womanly now, which she remembered was something she passionately wished for as a young woman.

She wondered who she was now. Before, she was a knight and soldier and hung her whole identity on that; then, she became the Evenstar, and embraced all the formality and duty that title contained. Then, most unexpectedly, she was a wife. Now she found herself a mother, and she thought sometimes that this role would consume her entirely. She hadn’t had time to herself until recently. After Jon was born, she had been beset with anxiety, worried that the baby would inexplicably die in his sleep. But those feelings had decreased as she saw with her own eyes how well Jon was growing every day.

=====

The next morning after she had fed Jon and cuddled him, she received a note scrawled in a messy hand – obviously from Jaime – requesting her to meet him by the stables. Pod delivered it and said that he would be staying with the child and the wet nurse for the time she’d be away. She almost laughed when she saw how serious Pod was trying to be.

“What’s this, then?” She gave him a stern look. “What is Jaime planning?”

Pod straightened his spine and looked up at her. “I know not, my lady ser. He just asked me – politely – to be here for the few hours you’ll be gone.”

“You’ll be all right with the babe, Pod?”

He nodded his dark head fervently. “Oh yes. I’ve been practicing with the babies in Sylvi’s family. I do not think that I’ll drop him now that he’s over two months old. It’s when they’re fresh that they make me nervous because they’re so small and slippery. Anyway, Mara is here, if I need help.”

Brienne giggled. “All right. Thank you, Pod.”

Dressed in her old breeches and a tunic under a black jerkin, she belted Oathkeeper around her waist and looked for a moment at the great sword Longclaw that hung above the hearth that once belonged to Jon. He had been truly talented with the blade, she remembered. Brave to the point of recklessness. Much like Jaime.

She found him in the stables, bickering with Arya, who had the gift of being able to bring out his old, obnoxious, mouthy self. Jaime, who had been checking the buckles on two horses, straightened up awkwardly when he saw her come in. Arya, who had been perched on a stack of hay bales in the corner, lightly jumped down.

“Lannister’s summoned you here, has he?” Arya smirked.

“Has he told you what he has planned for me?” Brienne asked, grinning. She loved the young woman’s audacity and feistiness.

“Not really. I assume it’s something stupid.” She tilted her head. “Can I come? I’d like to see this.”

“Absolutely not. Gods, how does Gendry put up with you? You’re a demon.” Jaime glared at her.

Arya laughed. “Is that all you got, Lannister? To think, those brothers on that Isle really did declaw you, didn’t they?”

“Lions don’t play with little girls. Now leave.”

Arya grinned and turned to Brienne. “Who’s taking care of Jon now that you’re being abducted by a toothless lion?”

“Pod. And of course Mara is there.”

“I’d better go help him. Pod gets too nervous around Jon. I wouldn’t want my godson to get dropped.” She walked toward the exit then turned back. “Have a good time, you two!” She grinned at them and sauntered away.

“Gods, she is a pest,” Jaime grumbled.

Brienne chortled. “I’m sure she feels the exact same about you.”

Jaime shrugged and handed her the reins of her sweet grey mare. “When was the last time you were on a horse?”

“Hmmm. It must be five months or so? By the Seven, it’s been ages.” They started walking their mounts out of the stable.

“Is this why you’ve called me? To go for a ride?”

“If you’re up for it, wench.” Jaime mounted on his horse.

She did the same. “And where are we going?”

Jaime grinned, his eyes twinkling in the sun. “Just follow,” he said, as he started galloping away on his white steed. Brienne, smiling, urged her mare on and followed fast at his heels. She felt the rush of speed, the wind running through her, the powerful galloping hooves beneath her. She felt such freedom. She tasted it. It had been too long since she felt such power within her, such speed. They passed trees and farms and forests. They slowed to a walk as the horses traversed a steep incline. They had been riding for over half an hour. Brienne knew Tarth well, of course, and had an inkling of where he was taking her.

Jaime slowed to a walk and led them through a sunny clearing, surrounded by tall evergreen trees. Beyond was a meadow filled with wildflowers. He looked back at her, the sun brightening his hair, making it look like a halo. He grinned. The sight before her – Jaime, the forest, the meadow – was breathtaking.

Brienne couldn’t help but smile back in response. “This is one of my secret places. You’ve found it.”

“I should have known you’d know all the best places on Tarth. As it happens, it took me a lot of exploring to find it, wench. Give me some credit.”

They hobbled their horses near a stream and an inviting patch of green. They walked out into the meadow, Jaime carrying a basket. He spread out a blanket on the grass and they sat. The meadow was high up, and they had a view of the sea beyond.

They spent some time sitting in companionable silence. He glanced at her, smiling, every once in a while.

“What?” Brienne finally asked, after a particularly long glance.

He started, as if surprised to be caught. “Nothing. I like looking at you.”

Brienne felt her face grow hot. “I’m not much to look at,” she muttered.

Jaime frowned slightly, and his face grew serious. “Tarth suits you. Motherhood suits you. And you grow more beautiful every day. Truly.” 

She scoffed. “Gods, Jaime. I’ve never felt more frazzled. My hair is a mess, I’m tired all the time. I don’t believe my looks have improved since you first met me all those years ago. I believe you called me a beast and wondered if I were a woman.”

“I was jesting.” Jaime had the decency to at least look guilty. “I don’t believe that now. It’s remarkable: the more I look at you, the lovelier you are to me.” He observed her shaking her head in protest.

“I wish you could see me the way I see you, wench,” Jaime said softly.

She gave him a tired look and narrowed her eyes.

“Why did you bring me here, Jaime?”

He sighed, fidgeting with his stump, which he preferred not to cover in the hot weather. “I wanted to be able to talk to you without any interruptions, wench. And it’s pretty here – I thought that you’d like to get out of the castle, now that you’ve recovered after the birth.”

She gave him a small smile and she felt her shoulders relax. “I’m grateful for this. You’re right to suggest it. I needed to get out, and it’s good to be finally riding again. I actually haven’t been here in a long time.” She patted his left hand. As she tried to move her hand away, he grabbed it and held it. His hand was warm and somehow soothing, though she felt her face flush once again. It was disturbing how much he stirred up in her, some of it thrilling, some of it…unsetting and unpleasant.

She wanted to pull away, but she made the mistake of looking at Jaime’s eyes and felt that all too familiar pull that had always existed between them, like how the air felt right before a thunderstorm. It was a strange attraction that she realized never went away, even though she had tried to forget about it. He moved closer to her. She could smell the sweat on his skin.

“Brienne. I want to tell you that I’m planning to stay here, on Tarth. I’m not going to run away.” His hand squeezed hers.

She looked at him with a sharp, skeptical expression. “You don’t have to say that.”

“But I mean it. I’m happy being here with you. I want to see little Jon grow, I want to be there whenever you might need me.”

“Jaime, you have been a great help, and I’ve told you how much I appreciate your presence, how much I couldn’t have done without you. But you shouldn’t make those kind of promises to me. I know full well that I have no hold on you.”

He looked at her intently. “But of course you do. You’ve had a hold on me since Harrenhal. You still do, even after all this time.”

Her heart clenched. She did not comprehend the meaning of his words; she felt that she was on the edge of a great, dark precipice and that Jaime was responsible.

“How can you say all these things, as if you are committed to a life with me? I don’t know if I can believe you, Jaime. You didn’t stay the last time. You continued to run away even when you survived the collapse of the Red Keep. You clearly didn’t want to be in my life, and now you’re declaring that you’re planning to always live here, to always be there for me?”

“I made a mistake.”

She looked at him pointedly. “What was the mistake, specifically?”

“Leaving you in Winterfell. I wanted to stay.”

“Did you? Or has your thinking merely changed with time? Because the Jaime I remember was intent on leaving. You rode that horse out of the yard and didn’t even look back.” She felt her blood pounding in her head. She should stop talking, but everything she had bottled up seemed to have been awoken like an unruly beast. “You say you wanted to stay, _now_. But you _didn’t_. The second you realized your sister was in danger, you stole away in the middle of the night to be with her, without even intending to say goodbye.”

“Gods, Brienne, don’t you know that was the hardest decision of my life? I came to Winterfell because of you. Because of who you thought I was. Because I was in _love_ with you.”

Brienne stared at him, wide eyed and furious. “No, Jaime. You don’t get to say that, you don’t get to rewrite history. You loved Cersei. That’s why you left. What we had was….”

“Was what? Just fucking? You know very well that it wasn’t just that. I know you feel it. Whatever was between us. Whatever’s between us still.” He glared at her, his chin raised in defiance.

She shook her head, meeting him glare for glare. “I think we both thought we were lucky to be alive after the Long Night, and our blood was up, and we acted on our passions. And then for a moon you were comfortable. Perhaps a part of you believed you loved me. Mayhaps a part of you fantasized about what it would be like to stay with me and be together. But that’s not what happened, was it? If you loved me, it was too little. It wasn’t enough. _I_ wasn’t enough.”

She continued, unable to staunch the flow of words. “I had been pining stupidly over you for years, and you saw that. You pitied me. Your body desired me. But you did not love me, Jaime.”

“I did. I do. All those years between us, Brienne.”

“You were with Cersei all those years.” She gave a frustrated huff. “You hurt me, Jaime. _I loved you_. You knew I wouldn’t have given you my maidenhead if I didn’t. And for a time during Winterfell I thought maybe you felt some measure of affection for me. And I mourned for you when you died, Jaime. I wanted to wither away and die myself when I heard you had thrown your life away for your worthless, murdering sister.”

He flinched at her words. Perhaps it was unfair of her to insult his great love, but she had enough. Colour flooded his cheeks. He was angry now.

His jaw clenched and he grounded out, “You said you loved me in Winterfell? Huh. And yet you married the first man that came along the first chance you got.”

Jaime looked stricken, immediately regretting the words that came out of his mouth. “Brienne-”

She unleashed her fury upon him. She felt herself trembling with rage. “You were _dead_. You chose your sister over me. You chose death over me.” She let out a bitter laugh. “Would being with me have been so bad, that death was preferable? Gods, Jaime. I wasn’t going to pine away after you for the rest of my life. I’m not as pathetic as you might think. You know something? I’m glad I married Jon, because he was kind and good and we both understood each other. Because I loved him and he truly loved me. Because he gave me my son.”

She threw him an accusing glance. “He was never afraid to be with me. Never.”

Jaime flinched at her words as if she had struck him. “You’re right.” He slumped over and held his head in his hands. “I _was_ afraid to be with you.”

When he looked up at her, his eyes were red-rimmed, and his face looked haggard and strained. “Coming to Winterfell, disobeying _her_ – was the most courageous thing that I’d ever done at that point. Defying her, walking out of the Red Keep. I knew who she was. I knew _what_ she was. She used wildfire in the Sept and killed thousands, which was something I sacrificed my reputation to stop all those years ago with Aerys. Her actions caused sweet Tommen to jump to his death. But despite that, despite all the despicable things she’s done to others, to me, I still stayed with her. I fucked her and she said I put another baby in her belly.”

He swallowed hard. “That’s why I never understood why you thought I was a good man. I’m a weak man, at best. Never good.”

She looked at him with furrowed brow. “But why…why didn’t you break with her earlier, if you knew what kind of person she was?”

“I don’t know. I think it was the same reason I left you for her in Winterfell. All my life, I thought I loved her. We always told each other that we were twins who shared one body and one soul. She and I were the same, that’s why it wasn’t a sin for our bodies to come together. We convinced ourselves that it felt right. Since I was a child, I had known nothing else but Cersei. I breathed and lived for her. I thought of no other woman, I desired no other woman. I did her bidding no matter how vile. I was entirely her creature, Brienne. You would have hated me. You _did_ hate me, for you met that a little of that Jaime when I was captured in the battle of Whispering Wood.”

“But when you met me, I had been a captive for months, with no one to speak to, wallowing in my own filth in the Riverlands. What else could I do but think? And I thought about the past, my childhood, about Cersei. I realized how twisted what we had was, how I loved her so much more than she did me. How she was mean and cruel with her words and free with her slaps and pinches. I had already begun to change. And when we met, when I was your captive, I started to see things differently. You were so brave, and good and noble. All the knightly things I wanted to embody before my corruption. I hated you for it. I was fascinated by you for it. And in the end Brienne, I loved you for it.”

“I did a brave thing by coming to Winterfell, and an even braver thing when I came to your rooms that night and kissed you, just because I wanted to do that for years. But I couldn’t do the brave thing by staying in the end. But I thought of Cersei and the babe I put in her, and all the worthless things I did in her name, just for a scrap of affection or a fuck in the dark. Even though she was repeatedly unfaithful to me. I couldn’t do the brave thing by returning to you after I’d healed from the Red Keep. I wish I had been stronger. I wish I hadn’t been afraid. I didn’t deserve to live. Brienne, I was disappointed when I woke up to find myself alive in the Quiet Isle.”

“Why did you want to die? You just survived the battle against the dead.” She felt a pang in her chest for him. 

“That’s exactly it. I never expected to live. I wanted to die in your arms, finally doing something _right_. A part of me thought I deserved to die with Cersei, who was my kind. We were the same, right? I never thought either of us would survive King’s Landing. And when I did survive, how could I go back? I was despicable, a craven.”

“But seeing you on the isle, so vibrant and alive, made me want again. I missed you so much, wench. Even though I knew you were married to Jon, I just wanted to be near you. I knew that I could be happy just to see you and talk to you, be your friend.”

He looked at her with a fervid intensity. “I…don’t expect anything from you other than your friendship. I put no demands on you. You don’t have to decide anything. I just want you to know that I intend on staying here with you as a friend. Nothing more.”

Jaime looked lost and his eyes were bright, as if he had a fever. Brienne felt her heart pounding, and her mind felt slow, unable to process the torrent of his urgent confession. She abruptly stood up, and Jaime’s hand fell from hers.

“I – I need to walk.” Jaime looked hurt and his face twisted.

“Jaime, I’m not running away from you. You can come if you like. But I just need to walk.”

He nodded and looked relieved. They strolled through the meadow, tall grasses tickling them through the fabric of their breeches. The air had the scent of dew and flowers. They did not speak. She led them through another forest and through a twisted path between large boulders. When they emerged, they saw before them a lake with a small waterfall, surrounded by lithe willow trees and flat rocks.

Jaime gasped softly beside her. His face was surprised and awed by the beauty in front of him.

She smiled at him. “This is my spot. The one I’ve only kept to myself. Until now.”

Jaime’s eyes widened.

Looking at how the green of the trees were echoed in his eyes, how his beautiful face was slack with vulnerability and openness, she felt a tenderness for this impossibly good-hearted man in before her. She felt an urge to touch him, feel the solidity of his shoulders. Instead, she smiled a little sadly at him.

“I’m glad you’re staying, Jaime,” she said, meaning every word of it.


	12. Chapter Twelve: Constant and True

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A farewell and a celebration.

A raven arrived from Tyrion, with news that Drogon had died. The great black dragon’s withered corpse was somewhere in the high mountains of Old Valyria, King Bran informed him, and this was likely his final vision as The Three-Eyed Raven. The last dragon had died. Magic was truly gone from the world. Luckily for the Kingdom, King Bran still retained memories of all he had seen, and remembered with vividness the events that lead to the multiple wars of Westeros; as a monarch, he was still wiser and well-informed than any previous ruler before him.

Brienne sighed, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the contours of the sapphire star necklace she never took off, even when she was training. She figured she should consider herself lucky, that magic had brought Jon back to help save the world, to love her, and to give her a son. She was determined that her son would live with Jon’s memory, regardless of who ended up in his life. Her little one would know his father.

It was strange, when she thought about it, how so much of her life after the wars was spent mourning. First Jaime, now Jon. Her heart felt tired. And now, to hear Jaime’s explanation of his actions at Winterfell, and how he supposedly felt about her, how he feels now – she could barely think on it.

She picked up Jon from his crib. He’d had a good night, and constantly delighted her with his good nature. He had already started to smile too, and had the beginnings of a laugh. Brienne loved the way he stared at her and the world around him with wide, sparkling eyes full of utter wonder. It made her desperate to protect him and love him and help him retain that innocence.

“Wench, she’s leaving,” Jaime said quietly, stepping into her room as if he belonged there, looking breezy and cool. He grinned at the sight of the two of them and coaxed Jon into his arms, kissing and cuddling him as if he hadn’t seen the child not two hours ago.

She admitted that a part of her heart melted every time she saw Jaime with Jon in his arms. The sight was simply too adorable for words. Jamie’s eyes were full of adoration as he gazed down upon the smiling baby. They looked like light had swallowed them, they were so luminous. She had to give credit to Jaime – no matter what was between them, he never resented her relationship with Jon, or the fact that she had his son. Jaime seemed to simply and purely love little Jon, and even had affection for the memory of the babe’s father.

“Gods, the time!” Brienne threw on her black jerkin (everything she wore was the black of mourning these days) and laced up her boots. Jaime’s eyes followed her every movement. They had not spoken about the past – or their feelings since that time some weeks ago. Yet Jaime remained a constant presence in her daily life, helping with the baby, consulting with her on Evenstar matters, sparring with Pod. Every time she needed him, he was there. It was both comforting and disconcerting at the same time; he seemed determined to prove something to her.

They walked down to the yard, where Arya was readying her horse, securing her bedroll and saddle bags. She wore a grey leather jerkin and had her dark hair pulled back into a neat, severe bun. As always, Needle hung from her hip. Her usual impassive face broke into a smile when she spied Jon in Jaime’s arms, as she rushed to him and eagerly took the babe into her arms. Jon stared and stared at his aunt, his clear blue eyes roaming her face. He giggled, his little hand grabbing at her nose.

“Oh! He laughed at me,” Arya laughed, a brightness in her expression that most rarely saw.

“I’m your favourite auntie and godmother, aren’t I, little Jon? Not Sansa!” She gave a wicked grin. The babe gurgled and laughed.

Brienne beamed. “The laughing is a new thing. It’s quite wonderful.”

“He’s recently discovered that life can be amusing, apparently,” Jaime dryly noted.

Arya looked at both of them. “I shall miss him, and you, Brienne. And I’ll even miss you, Lannister.” Jaime smirked.

She handed little Jon back to Jaime; the babe seemed delighted to be passed around like a sack of flour.

“Are you really going back out to sea?” Brienne asked, tilting her head.

“I’ve been thinking on it. I sail to Storm’s End first, though.”

“No marriage in the offing then?” Jaime sounded genuinely curious.

Arya grinned. “Gendry has to wait a little bit more. Too bad he’s stuck being Lord. I would have welcomed him traveling with me this time.”

She hugged Brienne tightly, her head only going up as far as her chest. “Take care of yourself, Arya.”

Arya patted Jaime on the shoulder as if he were a comrade at arms. “Lannister, look after Brienne and Jon, would you?”

Jaime grinned crookedly at the young wolf and nodded. “Always.” He gave Brienne a knowing look, and gods, she felt herself blush.

Arya looked carefully from one of them to another. She started to walk away, then turned back, her eyes amused and her lips quirked up.

“You know, it would be all right if you two _took care of each other_ ,” she said suggestively, emphasizing the last words of her statement.

Brienne stared at her blankly. The young woman continued, “Jon, before he – well, he told me that he wanted you to be happy, Brienne.” She paused. “And that he wouldn’t mind if you two were together. If that’s what both of you want.” She had the decency to look a little embarrassed at her words by the end.

Jaime’s face was flushed, his lips pressed together.

“Well, little wolf, maybe you should perhaps focus on putting Gendry out of his love-sick misery first, before you start doling out romantic advice,” Jaime drawled casually, his voice a little too smooth and slick.

Arya snorted and mounted her horse. She waved to them and started trotting away.

“Well wench, it seems we’re all out of Starks at the moment. Maybe Sansa or King Bran will visit next.” His tone was light and jocular, but she sensed that he was, well, unsettled as she was.

Brienne could not bear to look at him, and had to lower her eyes when he turned his gaze to her. Jon started to fuss, and she looked at his sweet face instead. Jaime drew closer, carefully transferring the babe into Brienne’s waiting arms. His arm brushed her breast lightly and she quietly gasped at his accidental touch. She felt the heat of his stare and like a fool, she raised her eyes to meet his. He was shining in the sunlight, but the expression of desire on his face spoke of pleasures that could only be found in the dark. His pupils grew wide, and he bit his lip. She found herself staring at his wet bottom lip and couldn’t look away. He took a step toward her.

Jon, gurgling, nuzzled at her breast, and all of the sudden, the spell was broken. Brienne stammered excuses, started walking quickly back inside, leaving Jaime staring after her.

=====

The wooden common room was small and packed with happy well-wishers. Laughter and loud chatter and singing filled air to the rafters. Podrick and Sylvi sat at a table, dressed in their wedding finery, Pod wearing a fine red doublet and his radiant bride a fine white dress and a crown of pink roses on her head. People sat at tables, eating and drinking freely, and small children squealed and ran between the tables. The large room was simply decorated with leaves and flowers, ribbons and paper birds. Smiles and laughter flowed, as did the wine and ale. Jaime thought that these smallfolk seem to be having much more fun than at the highborn weddings he’d been forced to attend all his life. In fact, in many of the weddings he’d been to, the married couple had not even liked each other; some even ended in murder, Jaime remembered darkly, thinking of his unfortunate firstborn and his demise at his own wedding feast. Soon enough, those bleak thoughts were far away, and he could hear the sound of the fiddlers outside, as the yard was filled with dancing and whooping couples. People laughed with ease, and there was a joy and light-heartedness in the atmosphere that lifted his troubled spirits.

Jaime had been present when Brienne offered Pod the use of Evenfall Hall for his wedding, but the young man blushed and said that Sylvi wanted a small to-do in the village hall with her family and friends. Being the daughter of a fisherman on Tarth, Pod thought that his future bride would not be as relaxed as she would be if she were at her own village. It was admirable, Jaime thought, that Pod wanted to make a life of his own. Aside from his work at Evenfall helping Brienne, he and his bride would be living in the village in their own seaside cottage.

The ceremony had been held at the village sept and was beautiful in its simplicity, and the couple looked happy and in love. It made Jaime feel wistful and sad at the same time. He had occasionally looked over at Brienne, and noticed that she was beaming at Pod, shedding a few tears during the vows. Jaime sighed inwardly and wondered if the wench was thinking of her own wedding with Jon. That wedding was probably also full of joy, he assumed with a another sigh. Jaime felt a misplaced nostalgia, like he was missing something he’d never had.

That evening at the feast, the wench sat at a table with Selwyn and Merry, talking and laughing comfortably with the couple. Jaime knew that Brienne had not gotten along with her father’s previous paramours, who Selwyn apparently rotated out every year; but the wench said that Merry was different, closer to her father’s age for once, a widow, and she was actually kind – not just to Brienne, but to others around her. Jaime had joined them earlier, but had left a while ago to send Mara off with little Jon in a carriage back to Evenfall. He had stood near the entrance when he returned, watching the proceedings with an amused eye. A couple of bold young ladies, both buxom and pretty in their respective conventional ways, approached him, touched his arm, leaned into him, but he dismissed them with a mild smile and a few disinterested words.

Then Brienne was walking toward him.

He put on his very charming smile. “Wench.” Brienne’s cheeks were adorably pink from the little wine she’d had, and the dress she wore, a gauzy gown the shade of a summer sky fluttered alluringly every time she moved. It was the first time that she had worn any colour since Jon died.

“None of the women here please you, Jaime?” Brienne asked casually.

Jaime made a point to look around the room. “Not particularly,” he said, coolly.

“The two that approached you were very pretty.”

“Were they? I didn’t notice.” He looked at her curiously.

“Oh?”

“No. My attention was captured by another lady.” Jaime said lightly. The wench, bless her, looked confused. “She is the most remarkable lady in the room. Smart, the most astonishing blue eyes you’ve ever seen, and she can take three men down at once with her priceless Valyrian steel sword.”

Brienne shook her head and quirked her lips. “Very funny, Jaime.”

“But Brienne, I’m not jesting. I mean everything I said about the lady. I have eyes for no one but her.” His eyes searched her face for a trace of – what? He did not know.

Brienne looked up at him through lowered eyes, he noticed how long and lush and pale her eyelashes were. If he didn’t know better, he would have thought she was trying to flirt with him. But she was not. Clearly. Intentional or not, the shy look she gave him sent a shiver down his spine.

She was silent.

When she looked up again, it was with her normal, forthright gaze. So she had chosen to ignore his flirtation, he thought. She chewed her lip.

“Was Mara all right with taking Jon back home? Perhaps I should have gone instead and let her enjoy the party?” Brienne’s voice betrayed her anxiousness. He smiled at her changing the subject.

“Calm yourself, wench. Mara was happy to go back with the baby. Especially since you promised her an extra day off at the end of the week.” She was utterly noble and conscientious. He imagined that would have annoyed him years and years ago, but now he found it, and practically everything she did, simply endearing. It was unfortunate she did not feel the same way about him, for he was still the recipient of many an annoyed scowl.

She relaxed her shoulders and smiled a small smile. “Thank you for arranging that, Jaime,” she said, as she casually touched his arm. This made her dress shimmer and he couldn’t help it but he found himself touching the sleeve and rubbing the fabric between his fingers. Wide-eyed, she stared at him in confusion.

“What are you doing, Jaime?” Her voice was low. Warmth coiled in his belly.

He stepped a little closer to her and looked into the pools of light that were her eyes. He cleared his throat. “This dress – it’s remarkable on you, Brienne.” Brienne turned a fresh pink. “You look like some kind of moon witch.”

She seemed to stare at him as intently as he was staring at her, but she closed her eyes, lightly shook her head, and when she opened them again, it was as if a curtain had fallen between them. She laughed lightly, though she had avoided his gaze.

Then there was a noise, and a cheer went up the room as Pod and Sylvi got up from the table and made their way past them and out the door for their inaugural dance as a married couple. Brienne, smiling, stepped outside and stood nearby to watch the pair sway to the music. Jaime stood behind her. Soon enough couples started to join the new married couple, as fiddlers scratched out their slowest and most romantic ballads.

“Wench, will you dance with a cripple?” Jaime said playfully, bowing at her.

He saw the briefest flash of annoyance. “Jaime, don’t call yourself a cripple.”

Jaime grinned. “Nonetheless. Would you dance with me, Lady Evenstar?”

She looked at him uncertainly, then nodded once. Jaime felt jubilant, as if he had won a tourney and had just been given his prize. He grabbed her left hand and drew her close with this other arm, his wooden hand touching the small of her back. She drew her arm around his shoulders. Jaime had not danced in ages; in fact, he distinctly remembered the last time he asked anyone to dance was Cersei many years ago at a feast, but his sister had been too disgusted by his missing hand and had very soundly rejected him. He had not cared for dancing since. But he would dance with Brienne all night if it were up to him.

The music was sweet and swelled around them and they moved astonishingly well together, which did not surprise Jaime in the least. After all, dancing was just a different kind of sparring, and the woman in his arms was very good at sparring. Brienne had the loveliest, girlish smile on her face, and he had the sudden urge to kiss her. He didn’t, of course, but he smiled back and saw her flush all the way down her neck. Brienne did not object as he drew her closer, so that their chests were touching and his cheek was pressed against hers. The warmth of her skin and the feel of her warm breath against his neck almost overwhelmed him. It was all so familiar and all so new.

“You dance wonderfully, Brienne,” Jaime murmured into her ear. He heard her breath hitch.

“As do you, Jaime.”

Brienne did not protest as he pulled her even closer. He smelled the lavender and rosemary scent faintly on her skin, vibrated with the warmth of her, and it took all of his strength to stop himself from kissing her neck.

“Jaime,” Brienne breathed.

“Yes, Brienne?” he replied, his lips lowering to the skin of her shoulder.

She drew back, and he was suddenly disorientated. The song was over, and Pod was standing beside them. The groom looked a little embarrassed but happy, and more than a little drunk.

“My lady ser,” he said, bowing comically low to Brienne. “May I have this dance?”

Brienne started, and smiled so radiantly that Jaime’s heart hurt.

“Of course, Pod. How could I refuse the groom?”

Jaime sighed as he watched Pod lead Brienne into the middle of the crowd. He went back inside, suddenly needing the fortification of wine.

=====

“I – I hope I didn’t interrupt anything,” Pod said nervously, glancing over at Jaime, as they swayed to the music.

Brienne smiled. “No, Pod, there was nothing to interrupt. Anyway, how could I not dance with the man of honour on his wedding day?” She could not help but be charmed by the very stiff way he was holding her, at arm’s reach, though he was quite a good dancer. It reminded her how he still called her ‘my lady ser’ sometimes. Well, most of the time.

“It was a beautiful ceremony and a beautiful night, Pod. You and Sylvi look like you are made for each other.” She looked over at the bride, who was dancing with Selwyn as awkwardly as Pod was dancing with her.

“It’s been the happiest day of my life!” Pod burst out, smiling broadly. “I never thought I’d find a girl who’s so pretty and kind, and doesn’t mind that I’m clumsy and stutter sometimes.”

“Well, I for one, am not surprised. You have been the most loyal squire a knight could ever have, Podrick Payne. I was lucky to have you serve with me. It has been my greatest pleasure to see you become a knight, and fight side by side with you.” Brienne grinned. She felt incredibly happy for this young man who practically grew up before her eyes.

Pod looked at her, his eyes wide and suddenly he burst into happy tears and hugged her fiercely, their dance forgotten. She felt almost like she was being attacked by a baby bear. She squeezed him back, feeling that her eyes were rather wet as well. He let her go, looking red and embarrassed.

“I’m sorry my lady ser,” he sniffed. “I’m just so…so grateful for you, taking me as your squire when no one else wanted me.”

She was crying truly now, and they gave up the pretense of dancing and just hugged again and shed tears on each other’s shoulders, sitting down on a bench. Sylvi, a picture of loveliness in her wedding down, poured them cups of wine, her long brown curls framing her face. She handed both of them handkerchiefs.

“Pod is very sentimental, isn’t he?” Sylvi smiled a dimpled smile at her new husband.

“He takes after me that way, I think,” Brienne said, grinning.

“It’s sweet,” she said, taking a hold of Pod’s hand. Pod smiled at her adoringly.

“You both make a beautiful couple. I wish you every happiness, Sylvi and Pod. I just know you’re going to cherish each other.” Gods, Brienne was being very overemotional right now. But she had never felt so happy for her dearest Pod.

“Thank you my Lady Brienne,” Sylvi replied, giving her a shy smile.

Brienne gave both their hands a squeeze, gave them her congratulations again, and left the two newlyweds.

She thought perhaps to go – it was late and couples had started to pair off and leave together. Her father and Merry had left a little while. She looked around for Jaime, but he was nowhere outside. She went back inside and saw him sitting by the window, looking out forlornly, a flagon of wine cradled in the crook of his right arm. A very pretty young woman with long blond hair dressed in a low cut blue gown leaned her perfect breasts against him as she sat beside him. Her hand was petting his hair like a cat, but Jaime seemed to have barely noticed and was effectively ignoring her, staring morosely into the distance.

As Brienne came in, his head turned from the window and he abruptly sat up. The blonde beside him purred something in his ear and tugged his sleeve. He turned to her as if surprised to see her there beside him.

She walked up to Jaime. “Jaime, I’m going back. Someone has to relieve Mara so she can go home.” Brienne looked at the beautiful blond woman and noticed her bright green eyes. “You can stay, if you like. But I just wanted you to know.”

Jaime looked alarmed, and stood up, nearly pushing over his lady companion, who clutched at his sleeve and squealed in protest. A surprised Jaime looked down to the woman, and slightly confused at seeing her so close, he murmured vague apologies while walking away from her and toward Brienne. 

“Why would I want to stay, wench? I’ve been wanting to go home for ages.” he said, his voice slightly muddied from wine. 

“I highly doubt that,” Brienne said sarcastically, giving the miffed young blonde woman a last look. Gods, she could easily be his daughter, she looked so young.

They said little as they walked to the carriage; Jaime was a little unsteady on his feet, but managed to clamber up to the carriage after Brienne. However, he sat far too close. Soon enough, his head started to droop and came to rest on Brienne’s shoulder. He sighed. She squirmed, but did not move.

“Wasn’t that a romantic wedding, wench?” Jaime said liltingly. She smelled wine on his breath. On this special occasion, she allowed herself one or two cups of wine, but obviously drank far less than Jaime.

“It was,” Brienne conceded. “Pod and Sylvi make a sweet couple.”

“And it was a wonderful party. I’ve never seen people so happy at a wedding feast.”

Brienne made a noise of agreement. Then paused. “Jaime, you could have stayed, you know, if you wanted to be with that woman. You deserve to have some fun.”

“What woman – oh, that blonde girl? She just sat down beside me. I told her to go away, but she wouldn’t.”

Brienne sighed. “I know you don’t usually do that sort of thing, but she looked very much like-”

He looked at her blankly. She forged ahead. “Well, like your sister. I wouldn’t have blamed you for wanting her. After all, they say a man has needs.”

Jaime lifted his head from her shoulder and gave her an incredulous look. “Are you serious? The fact that she looked like Cersei would be the last thing in her favour. What kind of man do you take me for?”

Brienne blushed. “I’m sorry. I thought you might have missed being with her, that’s all.”

“You seem to be under the impression that I’m still in love with my sister, that I still desire her, despite the fact that she was hateful and murderous.” His green eyes flared at her. “Even after I’ve told you I love _you_. That I only have eyes for you.”

They stared at each other, Jaime’s anger and frustration radiated off him. Their carriage stopped and they silently made their way to their chambers. Brienne went to Jon’s nursery and sent Mara home with thanks. She looked down on Jon, and saw that he was fast asleep, his little rosebud mouth moving in his slumber.

“He’s adorable,” Jaime whispered in her ear, his tone once again soft. She smiled at her son, nodding in agreement. 

She made her way through the adjoining door to her room, and Jaime followed, closing the door behind him. He sat himself in a chair near the fire, and looked at Brienne expectantly.

“Jaime, what are you doing?”

“I’d thought we’d finish the conversation we were having in the carriage, wench. You seem to be always running away when we get to the good part.” Jaime said dryly.

She scowled at him, but sat down in a chair opposite him. “That’s my wench,” Jaime said playfully.

Now that they were sitting down, however, Jaime started to look nervous. He got up and got himself a cup of wine, offering some to her, which she declined because she’d had two cups already and didn’t want too much going into her milk. Jaime sat back down and stared at the fire.

“Brienne. Today, when we were dancing and you were in my arms, it felt like a piece of me had come back, strange as that sounds. And I wanted to kiss you, and kiss your neck, and taste you….” Jaime’s eyes were bright and glittering, a sharp green and fervently seeking hers.

“Jaime, what are you saying?” Brienne’s mouth was open in disbelief, her eyes large.

“Please, let me explain, Brienne. I need you to know this. Will you listen and not run away?” Jaime’s voice cracked with his plea.

She nodded. Inside her, a swirl of emotions whirled through her: uncertainty, fear, _hope_.

“Brienne. Everything that happened in Winterfell – before I stupidly hurt you – everything was real. Before you, there was only Cersei, and I had never wanted to sleep with anyone else before, never really tempted by any woman. It only happened with you, Brienne. Ever since Harrenhal, I found myself thinking of you, admiring you, and part of me already knew that I wanted you.” He looked earnestly at her. His skin glowed in the firelight.

“You made me want to be a better man. Improbably, you made me think I was already a good man, somewhere inside, even if in the end I failed to live up to that. I loved you long before Winterfell. And Brienne, I haven’t stopped loving you.”

“Jaime,” she breathed, not believing what she was hearing.

His gaze captured hers and held it. “I didn’t leave you and return to Cersei for love of her, but for hatred of myself. I don’t think I ever deserve you, Brienne, but I want to try now to live and have a future. And I would be honoured if you allowed me to be simply near you.”

Jaime moved from his seat now and sat on the floor in front of where she was sitting, his left hand on her knee, his head resting on her thighs. Brienne gasped at the contact, still stunned by the words coming out of his mouth. She could not believe this man that she had cared about through all these years was declaring himself to her and had laid himself at her feet. She felt the heat of his hand on her thigh through her thin dress. His head was golden on her lap, the shining hair too tempting. Brienne could not help herself; tentatively, she touched his hair, running the silky strand through her fingers. He leaned into her touch like a gentle lion.

Jaime looked up, her fingers still in his hair, his expression wide and sincere. “I love you, Brienne, and I always want to be near you and the babe. I care for little Jon, Brienne, as much as if he were my own.”

He grabbed her hand and held it. “Before your Jon died, I promised him that I would take care of you and the babe. I intend to fulfill that vow. But fulfilling it would be no burden; on the contrary, it would be a privilege. I want to be there when he crawls and starts to walk. When he begins to talk and begins to run. I want to help you train him with a sword, help him the best I can when he starts learning his letters.”

Brienne felt herself tremble, her throat becoming tight. Jaime, kissed her hand. “I want to be there for you, wench. Please let me be there for you. Allow me to love you, even if from a distance. I want to make you laugh, I want to annoy you to distraction. I want to put that scowl I so love on your face. I want to comfort you when you’re sad, Brienne. I want to take care of you and be near you.”

It was all too unbearable: the fierce honestly in his gaze, the unabashed, naked love in his eyes, the quivering vulnerability of the corners of his lips. It was all too much. Brienne felt the longing of her heart still thudding despite all her losses and grief. Her heart was making itself known. And she couldn’t help but card her fingers through his hair and slowly guide him up. Jaime’s eyes were wide with disbelief, his lips pink and open. She lowered her head to his and kissed him softly, their lips pressing almost chastely. His mouth was warm and soft, and he kissed back, almost too eagerly. A warmth spread through her, from her lips to her very toes. Jaime sighed sweetly as she pulled away from the kiss. He drew back, his eyes dark with want.

“Brienne.” His voice was rough with emotion.

“Shhh. No more talking.” She stroked his cheek and angular jaw. He licked his lips.

“No more talking,” Brienne repeated, looking at him with a serious expression. “Let’s sleep. Just sleep.”

Brienne walked to the other side of the room, turned her back to Jaime, and slipped out of her dress and stood naked with her back to him. She quickly pulled on her sleeping shift, a plain white linen thing. When she turned back he had taken off his breeches, leaving his long tunic on. Silently they slipped into bed and under the covers.

Jaime laid on his side and stared at her, his eyes wide and his face tender and glowing. His left hand touched her cheek, his fingers began tracing her lips. Brienne trembled at his touch.

“Come,” he said, drawing her close so his arm was under her and she was resting her head on his shoulder. His left hand continued to stroke her hair and shoulder.

“Sleep,” he whispered. She felt the movement of his chest, the warmth of his skin even through his tunic. She closed her eyes, comforted by the solidity of Jaime, feeling all at once protected and cared for. She felt the fire dim slowly, by degrees, and as the room grew cold, she drifted to sleep, but it seemed to her that she never felt so warm.


	13. Chapter Thirteen: All is Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This odd love story ends with a bang. 💙

Jaime woke up from a haze of blissful sleep the likes of which he hadn’t had in years, although in truth, his sleep was interrupted twice by the crying babe, hungry for milk. He had gotten up both times, his body seemingly tuned to Jon no matter how fast asleep he was. He put the babe to Brienne’s breast, and looked on contentedly as she sleepily held him to her chest. It was a routine he was already familiar with, and Brienne quite often dropped back to sleep the moment Jaime carried the baby away to his crib after burping him. This morning Jaime still felt refreshed, remembering how he had finally told the wench the truth of his heart – that he loved her, and Brienne had been kind about it and kissed him, and let him into her bed to sleep. It was just sleep, but he got to hold her in his arms and cuddled in her warmth while they slept.

Jaime had been fully prepared to live a life of celibacy just to be in Brienne’s presence and in her life, loving her from afar, but gods, he wasn’t that strong of a man and felt compelled to confess to her as if he would to the Mother Warrior herself. And for the first time in a long time, he felt hope, just in that single kiss; with that kiss, he saw a possible future with Brienne. A second chance at getting his heart’s desire. He felt fortunate and lucky: who had that chance a first time, let alone twice?

He opened his eyes and was dismayed to find the bed empty; Brienne wasn’t in the room. Hurriedly pulling on his breeches, he opened the adjoining door to the nursery and found that room empty as well; no baby, no Brienne. He sighed, a knot of worry growing in his chest. Had he been mistaken? Had she regretted kissing him, letting him sleep in the same bed as her? He knew that she was easily scared off; years of knowing her had taught him that. He walked back to the bed and sat heavily. His eyes drifted to the bedside table, and saw a note. He picked it up, read it, and grinned. The wench had bade him to the stables. Mara was with little Jon and they had gone to spend time with his grandfather and Merry, who were staying on for a few days after Pod’s wedding.

Jaime rushed across the corridor to his rooms, and carefully washed with soap and water, shaved, and dressed in a green tunic that matched his eyes, dark tan breeches, and a soft gold leather jerkin. He stopped for a moment in front of the mirror to admire his appearance; he hoped the wench appreciated the extra effort he put in this morning. He strode to the stables, whistling to himself all the way there.

The day was magnificent, one of those rare warm and sunny days even in late autumn. He felt the sunshine on his face and wanted to laugh.

“You’re in a fine mood this morning,” Brienne said, the corner of her lips turning up into a smile. She looked him up and down surreptitiously, but of course Jaime noticed her roving eye and looked back at her with one eyebrow raised. She blushed a becoming pink. He wanted to wrap her up in his arms and kiss those pink cheeks just to deepen their colour.

She had been brushing her grey mare while she was waiting for him, and two horses were saddled and packed with bags.

“I had a very good night. Didn’t you?” Jaime let his voice turn low and a little suggestive, and was delighted when he saw those cheeks become a deep pink, no kisses needed.

“I slept well enough.” Brienne said casually, handing him the reins of his white mare.

“Where are you taking me this morning, wench?” He mounted his horse and watched as Brienne did the same, her impossibly long legs going over her mount. It was almost indecent, seeing the strong movement of her lengthy legs.

Brienne smiled playfully, and only urged her horse to a quick gallop for an answer, leaving Jaime in the dust. Naughty wench, he thought. They rode at a good pace, as the sun and wind washed over them. She led him to a familiar path, and they found themselves back at the secret meadow that Jaime had taken Brienne to some weeks ago. All was silent and still, save for the singing of birds in the trees surrounding them.

Brienne took down a bag and spread out a blanket in the middle of a sunny patch in the meadow. She took out some fruit, bread, cheeses and sausage from the bag.

“Sit. Eat. You haven’t broken your fast, have you?” Brienne asked, her eyebrows raised in inquiry.

“You know me too well, wench. I was busy getting pretty for you.” He smiled at her roguishly while biting into an apple.

The wench rolled her eyes. “Gods, Jaime. You’re the last person who needs to get pretty. Just look at you.”

Jaime scooted closer to the wench. “You think I’m pretty, do you?” He leaned his face closer to hers.

She scowled playfully at him. “Gods, your ego. I never thought a person could be so vain.”

He was drawn to her like a bee was to a flower, and he found himself nudging his face into her hair, his lips grazing her ear. She smelled fresh and herbal and sweet and he wanted to lick her.

Brienne shivered delightfully at his touch but pulled slightly away, her face aflame. She tore open the bread and handed it to him, along with some cheese. “Eat.”

He accepted the food and ate, looking at her with mild disappointment. He had never fully allowed himself to think about this since Winterfell, but gods, he wanted her. It was selfish of him, of course; if he were a better man, he would never have said the things he said last night; he should never have danced with her only to pull her close and feel her body against his. But here he was, foisting his affection on her, as if he were an uncontrollable beast. Not that he regretted it – not entirely anyway. He was happy this morning. Happy to be alone with his wench, happy to see her warm blushes and scowls and shy little evasions.

She stood up, surprising him.

“Come,” she said, holding out her right hand toward him. He scrambled to his feel and took her offered hand, glad to be touching his wench. He loved her hands, they were large but her fingers were elegant, even longer than his. They shared calluses in the same spots, which he found strangely alluring. She led them to a barely worn path that was uphill and was winding and curved steeply in strange ways. At some points, they had to climb up nearly vertical rocky paths. By the time they arrived at the top, both of them were panting, and sweat poured from his body.

“Wench, did you bring me up here to murder me with exhaustion?” He collapsed on the stone ground as he tried to catch his breath.

Brienne was all red and panting, and sweat made her tunic cling alluringly to her body. Jaime swallowed hard at the outline of her generous breasts. She smiled brightly and handed him a waterskin. He took it and drank deeply, appreciating the feel of the cool water down his throat.

“Come on,” Brienne said, again offering her hand. Jaime grabbed it, for he would always grab the hand that Brienne offered.

He was being led through a passage of trees and out to a rocky clearing. The clearing led to a cliff of rough stone, and beyond that was an impressive view of the waters of Shipbreaker Bay. A gentle breeze ran over their sweaty skin. The sky matched the blue of the seas, but nothing could compare to the blue of Brienne’s eyes, nothing so deep or so glittering or so beautiful. Their hands where they held each other was hot and sweaty, but he did not let her go.

“You can make out Storm’s End from here,” Brienne said, pointing in the direction of the sea.

But Jaime had no eyes for anything but Brienne. He tugged their joined hands toward him, guiding her closer. Her eyes upon his were blinding, a startling bright blue. He felt again his own weakness when face to face with Brienne. Any intention to be restrained and honorable disappeared like a grain of sand dropped in an ocean.

“Brienne,” he murmured, his left hand finally letting go and rested on her waist. He squeezed lightly. Brienne drew a breath and looked at him with wide eyes.

“I love you,” Jaime said softly, lost in the bluest seas of Brienne’s eyes. A single tear slowly trickled down her left cheek. He caught it with a kiss, and she made a sound between a gasp and a moan.

“And I love you, Jaime. Despite me trying to forget you.” She flung her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder. He drew her tighter in an embrace, and felt the warmth and sweat of her body. He felt free, as if his ghosts had suddenly fled from the light of this woman he held in his arms. He felt cleansed and baptized by the watery blue of her eyes.

They kissed slowly and tenderly, and Jaime was flooded with sweetness. They opened their mouths to each other and leisurely tasted each other’s mouths. Brienne was the first to draw away, her eyes searching and her expression vulnerable and soft.

“Follow me,” she said, leading the way again, through a gently winding, sloping path, and Jaime followed, because he knew he would follow Brienne anywhere. They arrived at the familiar lake and waterfall that Brienne had led him to the last time they were here. The waters were calm and dark blue, and the waterfalls a small, gentle one. The sunshine shimmered on the lake through large gaps in the trees.

“I want to swim,” Brienne said finally, facing Jaime. She started removing her boots, then her breeches, then impatiently threw off her tunic, leaving her entirely naked before him. He was speechless and could only stare at her loveliness. In this light, her skin was pale and freckled and luminous, as if she had swallowed the moon and its glow emanated through her skin. He felt his mouth water at her breasts, which were much rounder and bigger than in Winterfell because she was still nursing. He wanted to kiss them and caress them. Her body was lean and muscular, but there was a different softness to her curves, her hips and thighs. He remembered the taste of her as he stared at the blonde curls of her sex. He wanted to swoon at the sight of her strong, long, legs. He felt his breeches tightening considerably.

Brienne started to walk into the water and slid in like a seal, swimming like she was born to it. He stood there, gaping at her, desire swirling hotly in his blood.

“Aren’t you coming in, or are you just going to stand there?” She called out, her laughter ringing out.

He snapped out of his trance and began, a little frantically, to undress. He was a little too eager, and perhaps he forgot that he was one-handed, but he ended up stumbling a little on his breeches, but he was soon naked as his nameday. Brienne threaded water and stared at him unabashedly, her gaze moving from his golden head and ending on his cock, which was more than half-hard. He walked into the water, the coolness of it pleasant on his overheated skin. He felt the sweat washing off him, as he swam toward his wench. Gods, he wanted her in his arms again, but Brienne was elusive as a mermaid, swimming dexterously away from his grasping arms, giggling all the while. Soon, they were racing in earnest, chasing each other and panting, their cheeks pink from exertion.

Brienne went back to shore and Jaime followed. The water drops glistened on her skin most alluringly. He was too tempted not to have a taste, and so he did, drawing closer and kissing Brienne on her shoulder, licking the water from her neck. She leaned into him and let out a soft moan. She pulled his face into a kiss, and she opened his mouth with her tongue and licked the inside of his mouth and touched tongues with his. He felt heat and need throb through his blood and settle in his belly. He was desperately hard against her thigh, and he kissed her collarbone, as his hand traced the swells of her breasts. Brienne’s breath hitched and she moaned as Jaime drew down to kiss her breasts, loving the unfamiliar fullness of them. He sucked at her nipples, eliciting a cry of pleasure. Sweetness filled his mouth, and he tasted her milk.

She drew him down on the grass and amongst the ferns, and he lowered his kisses still, paying close attention to the new softness of her hips and thighs. He touched her mound, and traced along her seam, making Brienne arch; she was slick with desire and when he tasted her there, she gasped and tugged gently at his hair, making him even harder, which he didn’t think was even possible. He worked at her nub with his tongue as his fingers plunged into her and curled, and it was delicious and familiar but also brand new and soon enough she fell apart under him, her hips bucking into his face helplessly as she cried to the heavens.

Wiping his face with the back of his hand, Jaime kissed her and ground his hips into her thigh, his need nearly staggering. She looked at him with a dazed but happy expression and looked deeply into his eyes.

“I want you inside me, Jaime,” she said with a whimper.

Jaime was helpless and speechless and could only groan in response. She parted her thighs for him and he groaned even louder. He slid into her with an obscene and helpless moan; she felt hot and wet and overwhelming. It was all he could do to not spend himself right then. When she adjusted her hips he slipped even deeper in her, and he started thrusting inside her, feeling completely undone by how tightly she enveloped him, by Brienne’s matching thrusts of her hips in time to his, and by her wide, lust-filled eyes. All too soon, he began to feel that familiar tightening, and he ground himself desperately into her mound to give her the friction she needed as he moved inside her, and just when he thought he couldn’t hold off any longer, he felt her sheath clench around him as she writhed and cried out her pleasure, her hips bucking up to him. He slammed hard into her once, twice, before his body broke apart in wild and desperate rapture, as he felt himself shudder and spill hotly inside her. The bliss that came over him was bright and shattering. He collapsed on top of Brienne, panting, his heart pounding in his chest. Finally, he moved off her and to the side, his warm seed leaking out of her.

“Brienne,” he murmured, moving his head to kiss her long and thoroughly. She sighed against him.

“I don’t ever want to miss you ever again Wench. We should never be apart.” His hand roamed lazily at her breasts.

“All right,” Brienne said, a sweet smile at her lips. He kissed her. He couldn’t help it.

“This…this did not exactly go as I’d hoped,” Jaime said mildly.

This earned a frown from his wench.

Jaime grinned. “Well, I wanted to marry you first before we did this again, wench. As I should have done in Winterfell.”

Brienne giggled. “It’s a little too late to care about my honour, Jaime.”

Jaime cupped her face and looked into her eyes. “Your honour isn’t the reason I want to marry you, wench. I want to marry you because I love you and want you to be mine, as I am yours.”

“Oh.”

“Oh? Is that a yes?” Jaime looked at her a little desperately.

Brienne blushed and lowered her eyes. “It’s a yes. But we should wait.”

“I will wait forever for you, my dearest wench.” He drew her body closer and nuzzled into her neck, sighing happily.

=====

Little Jon was gurgling happily on the bed, frequently trying out his new ability to laugh. He was on his belly and was pushing himself up, using his neck muscles to look up. Brienne felt lucky to have this little bundle in her life. She was learning a lot from being his mother; for example, how expansive the heart was, how when she felt she couldn’t love more, there was always room for even more love. It was a contrast to her previous experiences with love, where its losses constricted and shrunk her heart and made it hollow. But now she loved her son, and found out she had room to love his father, and now to love Jaime once again. This truly surprised her, that love made you feel bigger, more generous, more connected to the world.

She and Jaime had come back in the early afternoon, riding mostly in happy silence, with Jaime throwing her saucy looks at her every mile or so. They had gone to their separate chambers, both of them needing to wash the forest floor off their bodies; later, Brienne sent off some ravens and letters. Then she went to fetch little Jon from her father and Merry, and brought him back to her chambers to suckle.

All her life, Brienne had felt so alone, that she only existed to be mocked by the world; ever since she was a child, she had faced rejection after rejection for her ugliness, her size, her strength, and her choice to become a knight. But now she was surrounded by family, she had a son whom she adored, and she had been loved by two good and noble men. She’d had her shares of sorrow, no doubt, but the bounty of happiness that lay before her was hard to fathom. Little Jon and his pure heart called out to her, and his sense of curiosity and utter delight at the world all around him made her feel hopeful. She was a knight and a mother, a leader and a lover.

“Brienne,” Jaime called out from the threshold of her room. He looked bright and clean, his hair still damp from his bath. He came in and closed the door. For a moment, he stared at Brienne and Jon sitting on the bed, a little unsure.

She beckoned to him and Jaime’s face relaxed. He bounded to the opposite side of the bed and sat, leaning over Jon who was laying in between them and gave her a short, brief kiss. Brienne felt her face grow hot. Jaime grinned. He greeted little Jon now, hovering his smiling face over his and making the baby squeal as Jon stared up delightedly at the pretty, golden man before him. Jaime kissed Jon’s belly through his woolen sweater and blew raspberries at his neck and shoulders, making the babe laugh and scream in joy.

Brienne felt herself giggling along and Jaime let out a self-satisfied bark of laughter. She looked up at Jaime, and saw how relaxed he was, his green eyes bright, a soft smile on his lips.

“Wench, this could be the happiest day of my life,” Jaime announced, his eyes sparkling.

She reached out and stroked his hair. “Oh, Jaime,” she sighed. She pulled her face to his and kissed him sweetly. Jaime sighed and stretched out onto the bed, laying down on his side. She moved down to, until they were both lying down with the babe between them.

“He loves you, you know,” Brienne said, looking at little Jon, who was starting to drop off to sleep.

“And I love him,” Jaime said, looking at her and reaching his left hand to hold her hand.

Brienne frowned in thought. “He will think of you as his father, and rightly so, but…but I don’t want him to forget his father. I want him to know Jon too, know what a good man he was.”

Jaime’s voice was gentle when he spoke. “I would never take that away from him, Brienne. He deserves to know his father, and I’d be happy to be one of many people who’d tell him tales of Jon Snow, the great dragon rider, Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, and hero of the Long Night.”

Jaime smiled playfully. “In fact, our own children will be jealous of little Jon’s father, considering how comparatively unworthy their own father is in comparison.”

“Our children?” Brienne asked with wide eyes.

“Of course, wench. With all the ravishing I plan to do to you every day and every night, it’s inevitable that we have a brood of them.”

“Oh gods.” Brienne rolled her eyes and Jaime laughed, throwing his head back to reveal an enticing swath of neck.

=====

Brienne observed Jaime in the apiary, suited a white robe, a hat and bee veil hiding his face. He moved with deliberate and calm movements, a metal spouted cylinder billowing out a stream of white smoke which relaxed the bees and made them move languidly, even in the cool air. Jaime slid out each wooden frame of the beehive, examining them by the light of the sun, and placed them back. Brienne was amazed at the progress of the bee yard, from an unused plot of land, to a walled courtyard, to a place where bees happily buzzed and made their home. It spoke of Jaime’s patience and dedication and commitment to staying, Brienne thought.

It didn’t happen overnight, but Brienne had come to sincerely believe that Jaime was staying here on Tarth. With her and Jon. It was shown in his words, of course, often repeated, but was also demonstrated by his dedication to helping with the duties around Tarth, his devotion to raising little Jon, and his constant attention to her, which she often still found hard to believe.

He turned his head and spotted her, and although she couldn’t see his face, she knew he was grinning. He put away the smoker and removed the gloves as he walked toward her. As he was about to remove his hat, Brienne stilled his hand.

“Let me,” she said, smiling, as she lifted up his veil and flipped it over his head. Jaime’s green eyes flashed with gold and twinkled at her.

“Care to kiss the groom?” Jaime murmured, lifting his lips up to meet hers.

She tasted the sweetness of his mouth and tongue as they deepened the kiss. She felt a thrill up her spine, as she always did, every time Jaime kissed or touched her.

“We’re not married, silly,” Brienne remarked, when she pulled away, smiling and a little out of breath.

“Not yet, you mean,” he remarked knowingly. “But we will be.”

“I know,” Brienne said to him seriously, as she cupped his face. He looked back at her with such adoration that it made her heart expand. Of this she was sure – they intended to be together for the rest of their lives, even though they had not yet set a date for the nuptials; she knew that Jaime would marry her right this minute if she agreed, but she felt that the time was not yet right. In any case, they had to get ready for Arya and Gendry’s wedding in a few months first.

Jaime took off his hat and led her to a small cabin that he had built to store his tools. He went to the counter and pulled out a jar, filled with a rich golden honey. He opened it and scooped some of it with a small spoon.

“Open up, wench. Tarth’s first honey.” Jaime brought the spoon to her mouth and she let the sweetness melt on her tongue. There were hints of flowery and herbaceous notes, and it tasted different from honey from the Quiet Isle. She tasted sweet summer in her mouth.

“Only a little bit now, especially because of the cold, but next spring we’ll start to have so much honey, you could have it for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.”

She kissed him, opening her mouth to let him taste the honey from her lips and tongue. Jaime moaned into the kiss, and pulled her flush to his body, his hand running up and down her back to cup her ass. Brienne felt his manhood hard against her thigh, and a jolt of pure desire ran through her. With a growl, she lifted the white robe off Jaime and tossed it to the floor with a dramatic thump.

“I’ve always wondered what the brothers wore under those robes,” Brienne said, noting Jaime’s nearly naked body except for his very obviously tenting smallclothes. He was beautiful and brilliant, shining and sculpted, and all hers. She knelt in front of him.

“Brienne,” Jaime murmured, his voice rough and low. He looked intently at her as she pulled down his smallclothes, and moaned loudly when she took him into her mouth.

“Gods,” Jaime groaned as she moved her warm, wet mouth up and down his thick length and her hands caressed his ass and played with his tightening balls. His hands gently raked through her hair as she felt his hips start to move uncontrollably. Jaime threw his head back, whimpering and making incoherent sounds that shot right through her with hot lust. He looked down at her just as she looked up into his eyes, and all of a sudden, his face twisted in pleasure and he shuddered, gasping as he filled her mouth with hot spurts of his seed. She moaned, swallowing eagerly. She licked him clean. He nearly collapsed to the floor, and she held him as they lowered down on his white robe. Brienne smiled as she saw him dazed with pleasure, his face lazy and relaxed.

“Gods, wench. You’ve undone me yet again.” Jaime managed to say, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. He held her close and soon, he snaked his hand into her breeches and found her wet and nearly there from the experience of watching his pleasure. All he had to do was rub her a few times and she came with a cry, her mouth at his neck.

They lay there, happily spent and wrung out.

Brienne helped Jaime dress in the tunic and breeches that he kept at the storage cabin, and they walked a little unsteadily back to Evenfall Hall. Life was sweet with Jaime, she thought, as he drew her close and kissed her cheek in the shadow of the door.

“Come wench, let’s go see our boy,” he said, as he pulled her by the hand inside the castle.

=====

Jaime never asked her to take off the sapphire necklace that Jon had given her on her nameday; nor did he avoid stories of Jon and his little personality quirks that made Brienne miss him and love him even now, many months after his death. In contrast, he rarely talked about Cersei, but when he did, it was only of memories of when she was a young child, still innocent and uncorrupted by greed and jealousy.

Sometimes, she woke up to find him awake and brooding, his face barely visible in the light of the dying fire of the hearth. One of those times, he began to pour out his guilt at his misdeeds, the evil things that Jaime had done in the past, all to supposedly protect his affair with his twin and their children, and the way that he had broken her heart after bedding her for a moon at Winterfell.

She held him then, and kissed him, and looked him in the eye and said, “Those actions were the old Jaime. The selfish man who left to die with his sister. That man is dead. You’ve been reborn, Jaime, and now you have a chance at a new life. A new family. You need to let go of the dead. Remember that old Jaime, but let him go.”

He nodded, looking at her fervently, wanting to believe her words. He clung to her and held her tightly. Brienne knew, of course, that the Jaime in front of her was the same person who killed his king and pushed Bran out the window, the same one who fucked his sister, and he was the one who left her crying in a courtyard in the middle of the night. But she also knew that Jaime had always been a good man, despite some of his despicable actions. He was a good man then, and was a good man now. He loved her son as if he were his own flesh and blood. He loved her, Brienne knew for certain. He had just been scrambled by his family, his past, his guilt, and what he perceived as his own selfish desires. But Jaime was a man made for love, and made _to be_ loved, but he had the misfortune to be born into a family where love had no value for power or monetary gain. He’d had to twist and contort his soul to please those he loved, but those same people still did not love him back half as much.

Jaime needed a reminder sometimes to let the past go, she realized. He needed to know that it was all right to live, to be happy for a future. He needed to know, most of all, that he was loved, and it was Brienne’s intention to show Jaime that he was loved every minute of every day.

=====

Jaime walked slowly across the field, scanning the grass and its boulders and the trees which had shed their leaves in anticipation for the upcoming winter. The air was crisp, but the sun shone brightly this afternoon. Somehow, to him, Tarth always seemed full of sunshine.

Jaime had died in the Red Keep, trying to protect his sister, once his lover, for whom he had felt a residual duty. But the bricks and stone had separated them: life from death. The Gods didn’t listen when he tried to go headlong to his death; he had wanted to do something, to have his life have meaning at the end of it all. Those wasted years with Cersei. But he had somehow survived and been reborn with careful tending, and for years he tried to be nobody, just a man in a monastery who still didn’t want to live.

As he walked over the crest of a hill, he spotted them: Brienne, dressed in a loose blue tunic and slim tan breeches, and little Jon swathed in linen against her chest, the fabric wrapping around them in a sling around Brienne’s shoulders. Her light yellow hair flew loose from her braid as the wind unwound the unruly tresses. Jaime quickened his pace. She turned on his approach and he was struck again at her startling brightness of her eyes, how even the sea looked dull behind her in comparison. Her full lips, pinked by the wind, spread into a wide smile, and her cheeks were red from the cold air.

“Jaime,” her low melodious voice rang out.

He’d had her in Winterfell, he held her desperately and hopelessly in his arms in the greyness of the North, but he’d let her go, convinced that he didn’t deserve her and he would never see her again. But somehow, they had found their way back to each other, and Jaime had another chance. He felt like the luckiest man in the world.

He strode up to her and peeked at little Jon, who was sleeping and nestling quite contentedly by his mother’s breast, swaddled securely and protected from the wind. Brienne’s blue gaze met his and his chest burst open; it was too much, the surge of love that he felt at that moment. He did not feel worthy of the happiness that unexpectedly filled and overflowed his soul. The sun fell upon her and she glowed; Brienne had shone light into all his darkest corners and flooded him with a brightness he couldn’t contain.

He touched her hair, which was light, he traced her cheekbone, which was light, and cupped the warmth of her cheek. She grinned at him, her expression full of the love he’d thought he’d never have _. Light, light, light._

There was nothing else to do, everything around them was light.

So he simply kissed her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks readers, for embracing this story and giving this odd narrative (and rare secondary ship) a chance. I never expected to write this story (it is canon, and I am afraid of writing canon, lol), but I loved the exploration of grief, second love, and redemption in the story.
> 
> Keep well, friends, and please say safe. Sending love and luck to you. 💙💙💙


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